Leave a Light On
by lostrocket
Summary: Starts in the fall of 1873 as Scarlett and Rhett both leave Atlanta, separately. Is there still a light to guide them home?
1. Chapter 1

_"I told you I'd leave a light on_

 _In case you ever wanted to come back home"_

\- Kent Robbins, "Every Light in the House"

 **Prologue**

 _"I'll think of it all tomorrow, at Tara." CHAPTER LXIII_

It was a week of tomorrows, and each worse than the day before, before Scarlett Butler boarded the train that would take her home. After Melanie Wilkes' death, there had been too much to do, too many people relying on her. Always relying on her. Scarlett looked in vain for other shoulders to bear this burden with her, and found herself standing alone. Rhett was gone. Melanie was gone, and Scarlett saw too late the quiet strength upon which she had relied, unknowing. The two people she loved best in the world were gone almost before she knew she loved them both.

Scarlett had promised Melanie she would take care of Beau, and Ashley, and so she would. But Ashley was just another weary, weary load. Would she always have to carry him? Weren't men supposed to be strong and shoulder the burdens? Ashley, she recognized now, had always preferred to turn away and not see the hard work of life, preferred to avoid the hard truths. And what could be harder than Melanie's death?

For Scarlett, there was never a choice, never that option to retreat from the world and bury herself in grief. It was not in her to succumb to grief, though surely this double blow was as bad as anything she had faced since the loss of Ellen. As she had at Tara, confronted by loss and dependency, she stiffened her shoulders and hardened her heart to do what must be done. By the end of the week, this steel shell had not succeeded in inuring her to grief. It made it possible to put one foot in front of the other, until at last those steps would put her on the road to Tara.

Alone on the train, for she had not recalled Prissy and the children from Marietta and Rhett, of course, had gone his own way, she watched the familiar landmarks pass by in a numbed daze. What would she do? The thought made her throat tight, made her stomach heave with nauseous tension. The question echoed in her mind with no response other than Rhett's passionless rejoinder: _I don't give a damn_.

Scarlett had found fear, again. She had thought it was left behind in the dust of the War; buried in the ground at Tara with her mother. She had faced hunger; deprivation; threats to her home and livelihood and safety and family; she had faced the worst and passed through it. And she had thought – that was it. The worst was gone, and she, Scarlett, was not.

She had lost a baby, and a child. Surely, there could be no worse from life. There could be no more surprises, no more hurts, and nothing – _nothing_ – to fear.

But just like the miscarriage had stunned her; just like Bonnie's death had come from nowhere to rip the bottom out of her life – when she thought the worst had happened, she learned how she had been so wrong. She was afraid her children hated her. She was afraid to face the old dragons without a friend. She was afraid Rhett would never come back to her. She was afraid of living her whole life in love alone.

She couldn't think about it, not yet. She would be at Tara soon. At Tara, there would be strength, for she feared hers had at last worn out.

There was no love or warmth to be found in the house on Peachtree Street. In the empty rooms, her thoughts seemed to echo and rebound and she was inundated and she could not escape. She had to escape. _Tara,_ she thought, and the green song of rebirth and renewal became her sustenance. Tara would get her through this. _Roots that go deep_ \- Rhett had said that. She wouldn't think about that. But he had been right, and her roots were in the red earth of Tara. There would be strength for her there; strength enough to prop her up while she gathered the frayed ends of her life back together.

She sent a telegram from the train station to Prissy in Marietta before boarding the Jonesboro train the night after Melanie's burial. She hadn't had the strength to send for them to come home to Atlanta. She couldn't deal with the strain of Melanie's passing and trouble with their pitiful, annoying, childish needs as well. So she put them off, delaying one difficult task while there had been so many others she could not refuse.

Wade and Ella could join her at Tara. What would she tell them? They might not ask, at first – Rhett had left before, he had disappeared for three months with Bonnie. Her timid children might wait it out, wait for Uncle Rhett rather than risk her too-sharp tongue. That would at least buy her the time to think of something – a story – an excuse for his absence –

No. She shied away again from the memories of Rhett. Not on the train, surrounded by people. These thoughts had to wait, she must wait for Tara. She would walk the lane under the cedars; she would visit Mother and Pa; she would see the red and green vistas, the strong and resilient earth that sustained them all. At Tara, she would be able to think about everything. From Tara, she would know where to go.

...

Under the cover of darkness, Rhett Butler left the house on Peachtree Street. He picked up the two suitcases by his bedroom door and stepped into the silent hall. He was leaving almost everything behind. His steps were muffled by the plush carpeting. He stopped outside his wife's bedroom door for a moment. He didn't care to say goodbye – he had said everything there was to say. Would he miss her? Should he look in? He asked himself these questions and no answer came to him, no impulse stirred. He shrugged and moved on. At the top of the stairs he paused again and looked down the dark hallway towards the nursery. He thought of Bonnie, but the thick fog of detachment held.

Rhett did not sleep that night. He lounged, a deceptive image of relaxation, on a train hurtling through the night towards Charleston. Sometimes a cigar made glowing tracks in the air. The black night wrapped around him and flowed through him and he felt they were one. He was still in the still air; empty in the darkness.

He thought he should be surprised that Scarlett had not sought him out again; or maybe grateful. He exhaled smoke, paused, and felt nothing.

The flask in his jacket pocket was full and untouched. For months, he had been drowning himself in liquor. Smooth whisky had seemed to spread throughout his body, a thick varnish that soothed away the jagged edges of his grief until finally – he didn't feel it anymore. Life felt strange, now, like he was looking at it through thick glass. It was distant, blurry, and uninteresting. He didn't need to drink, now that the numbness had become a seemingly permanent state. If he felt anything, it was relief.

In the humid midmorning, Rhett arrived in Charleston. He had thought to see his mother; but when his feet hit the solid, unmoving platform a sudden tide of restlessness threatened to drown him. The skin on his palm rippled with the sense memory of Bonnie's hand in his on this very platform. He clenched his fist around the cap of his flask and twisted it open with a violent movement. He took a swig, and booked the evening train to New York.

He stayed in the station, pacing it restlessly most of the day. If he stayed put, there were fewer people to see him who might tell his mother he'd been in town. He had to keep moving.

Another night, another sleeper car. Finally, he slept. The train had barely left his home city when his gritty eyelids had lost their strength and the heavy blanket of numbness in his chest had pulled over his head. He slept like the dead.

New York was brittle and bright, and the city surging around him left him cold. The restlessness had worn out; it seemed inertia, more than anything, bought his passage to France. He was an object in motion and could not stop until he reached the end.

 **Chapter 1**

 _"A few more days for to tote the weary load_

 _No matter, 'twill never be light"_

\- Stephen Foster, "My Old Kentucky Home"

* * *

 _Clayton County, Georgia, September 1873_

Jonesboro was dark and quiet when the evening train pulled into the station. A familiar old wagon was waiting for Scarlett in the road. The green paint on the double-box sides was faded and scratched, and the seat was a simple board across the front. Will Benteen was slouched on that board, one foot planted firmly, and the wooden peg which served as his other leg rested at an angle along the edge of the footrest. Will's chin was on his chest, and she heard soft snores as she drew up to him. She touched his knee softly.

"Will."

He didn't startle, but lifted his head smoothly, moving easily out of sleep.

"Scarlett," he said slowly, politely removing his beaten, shapeless hat and revealing the pinkish, strawberry blond hair plastered to his forehead. At the sound of the first warm, caring voice she had heard since Melly's passing, she clenched her fist and dug it painfully under the bottom edge of her corset. _I won't cry_ , she thought. _No, not even in front of Will, who's the closest family I have left now. Will would understand; but he might pity me. I can't stand any more pity._ Her closest family, and not even her own blood.

The wagon bounced as Will alighted. She handed him her small valise - she had left her things in Marietta after Rhett's telegram, and that luggage would come to Tara with the children. He helped her up into the rickety seat and climbed back up beside her. With a shake of the reins and a soft cluck, Will started them out of town.

They rode in silence until the wagon passed by pine trunks instead of wooden walls.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, Scarlett? We haven't seen you out here in quite some time."

Scarlett tossed her head, a movement from a lighthearted time that failed to lift her spirits but hopefully put on the right show for now. "Oh, Will, it's been too long. And - I'm sure you know—"

"We were right sorry to hear about Miss Melanie, Scarlett. We would have come for the funeral but I can't get away for that long while the pickin's bein' done, and, well, you'll see. Suellen can't travel just now."

Scarlett rolled her eyes, feeling no need to restrain herself as the wagon passed under the wide shadows of an old pine tree. Another baby? But swift on the heels of her contemptuous feelings for her sister's condition came a painful lack of breath as she thought of her own babies. Bonnie, dead. The baby who had never been born. The babies she might never have - and she would so want a baby now, but Rhett—

"It's a hard time," she answered him, and her voice was also hard and brittle. She blinked away the sting of tears forming in her eyes.

"Well you're always welcome at Tara, you know that, Scarlett."

"Wade and Ella should be here tomorrow, with Prissy. They've been in Marietta."

"The girls will be happy for the company. They get mighty tired of only fighting with themselves."

Scarlett smiled weakly. "Just like me and Suellen, I suppose?"

Will took a moment before he answered. "Now, Scarlett, I know the two of you haven't always gotten along, but like I said. You're always welcome at Tara."

"Thank you, Will," Scarlett said softly. She tucked her hand in around his elbow and they finished the drive in companionable silence.

Arrival at Tara was anything but silent. Will and Suellen's three daughters tugged at her skirts and competed loudly for attention and affection from the aunt they rarely saw. With her infrequent visits, Aunt Scarlett was exotic and exciting, not at all like their own dull parents, and best of all she usually brought them new toys and pretty new clothes. Suellen snapped at them from the porch; the moods of pregnancy did nothing for her character. Her waist was thick, but she had never been as small as her older sister; it was not yet obvious that she was again expecting. Suellen's hair was as washed-out as her husband's, a light and dirty brown that curled in the humidity where small tendrils had escaped from her elaborate coiffure. Despite her simple clothes and constrained circumstances, Suellen clung to the pretenses of her pampered upbringing wherever she could.

Scarlett kissed Suellen's cold cheek. "It's so good to see you, Sue," Scarlett lied, thinking instead of how home, Tara, was already lifting her spirits. The wind through the trees whispered a familiar song, and the rich smell of the earth overlaid with the fragrant notes of Ellen's cape jessamine bushes soothed her. As the peace of nighttime at Tara washed over her, she quickly became fatigued. Sleep had been ragged and uneasy since Melly died and Rhett—

Suellen was talking to her, but suddenly Scarlett couldn't stand anymore false sentiment. She was too drained to continue the farce of the happy reunion.

"Dearest, I'm just so tired. Do you mind terribly if I go up to bed now? We can visit in the morning - I'm sure there's so much to tell me," Scarlett said, and she carefully did not look down at her sister's rounded abdomen.

In the porchlight Scarlett could clearly see the ill-mannered roll of Suellen's eyes. "Of course, Scarlett. Your room is the same."

"Would you send Mammy up, please?" At Suellen's nod, Scarlett kissed her sister's cheek again and pressed her hand in real gratitude.

Her room _was_ the same. In the weak lamplight, it was hard to tell that the cream walls were dingy. The blue curtains had been lost in the war, repurposed for who knew what, but the pale yellow shades that hung now were familiar from recent years. The bright rag rugs were so different from the plush carpet in her own home but their simplicity touched her. The whole room was plain, and simple, but sturdy and warm in a way her home was not. Not without her husband, not without their daughter - had that monument to Rhett's wealth, the emblem of her security and superiority to the judgement of Atlanta's respectable citizens, ever brought her happiness and comfort? It was an uncomfortable thought, so she passed it over.

And then Mammy was there, her kind old face burdened with sadness, but her bosom was still a familiar and comforting pillow and without knowing how it happened Scarlett was hugging her close and sobbing against the broad bosom as if she were a child again.

"Oh, Mammy! Everything's wrong, it's all gone wrong. I ruined everything, oh Melly!" and the thoughts she wailed out brokenly were disjointed and sometimes unintelligible, but Mammy rubbed her back with large soothing hands.

"There, there, lam', hesh now Miss Scarlett, nothin' ain't as bad as you say, I'z sure of it." Scarlett hiccoughed violently, her throat catching on the worst part, words she hadn't even said to herself, and she wasn't sure if she could say them out loud. She didn't know what to do about it - but maybe Mammy would.

Scarlett went so still, it gave Mammy an eerie chill. Scarlett lifted her head and her wet eyes glowed like a cat's, bright and unsettling.

"Rhett's left me, Mammy. No - not like any other time, not like when he took Bonnie. I - I'm afraid he's left for good."

In the silence that followed, with no words of comfort forthcoming, the floodgates burst again and Scarlett sobbed openly. "Oh, Mammy, I love him so much! And I didn't know - I didn't know and now he says it's too late, that he doesn't love me. But I never knew! Why didn't I know, oh why didn't anyone _tell_ me?"

Mammy wrapped her arms around Scarlett and nestled her former charge gently against her bosom again.

"There, there, lam'," she murmured; comforting Ellen's daughter just as she had her broken-hearted mother so many years ago. Mammy didn't have any more answers than she had back then, but she had a broad bosom to soak up her mistress's tears, and large hands that could stroke her hair softly, and a deep voice to whisper reassuringly. "There now, chile, it cain't be as bad as all that. You iz home now, Miss Scarlett, an' Mammy's here. Shhh, now, shhh."

Scarlett sobbed out her grief until the expulsion left her feeling hollow, then meekly let Mammy undress her and tuck her into her old bed. The sheets felt rough compared to the finery on Peachtree Street, but Scarlett rubbed her cheek against the faintly scratchy pillow and, for the first time in over a week, fell asleep quickly.

...

Scarlett was physically as well as emotionally exhausted. A week of grief had drained her. In a matter of days she had lost weight from lack of appetite, and there were dark shadows under her eyes from lack of sleep. Every time she started that drowsy fall into comforting blackness, she had found herself instead staring down into a bottomless grave and the terror jerked her back to wakefulness. She didn't rise until past noon the next day. Mammy helped her dress, and the nostalgia threatened to overwhelm her none-too-steady composure as she gripped the worn old bedpost. Her stomach spasmed uncomfortably under the tight stays as Mammy helped her slip into a plain black dress. Would grief and mourning ever leave her?

Wade and Ella arrived with Prissy, and Scarlett knelt on the porch to take them, stiff and unwilling, in her arms.

"Wade, Ella, dearests," she began, and the words died in her throat. They knew something was the matter, for Scarlett had left them behind in their hotel in such a hurry, without any of her things, and even in their childish ignorance this seemed perhaps more telling than their own abandonment.

Scarlett kissed each of their temples in turn and led them to the porch steps. Prissy had gone back to the kitchens, and thankfully anyone else in the house had the good sense to stay away for the moment. Scarlett pulled her children close to her sides as she sat on the splintered wood. Their stiff, jutting elbows poked Scarlett's sides as she tried awkwardly to force the unaccustomed intimacy.

"I'm sorry I left you both in such a rush," Scarlett began. Uncle Rhett," and she stumbled over his name, wondering for a moment how she would ever tell them that part, and hoping she would not have to. "Uncle Rhett's message was very urgent. I - I'm afraid your Aunt Melly is gone."

"Gone, Mother?" asked Ella, her muddy, unremarkable eyes lifting curiously. "Did she go on a trip, like when Uncle Rhett goes away?"

Wade only looked at her with a silent, serious gaze. Wade was older, born at the beginning of war, survivor of those harsh days at Tara - funny, she had never thought of her son as kin in that way, a survivor's kinship, and now his large brown eyes were too old, too understanding. She did not feel equal to the task of her son, as she looked at him and saw for the first time that he was closer to being a man than a baby. Her heart turned over when she realized how much time had been lost. She had always meant, one day, to have time for her children, to sit with them and read, to play with them, but that day had come far too late. That ill-starred attempt to knit together a relationship during Rhett's extended absence with Bonnie had failed, and she had not tried again. Her grief and cold self-preservation after Bonnie's death had if anything widened the emotional distance between them. For months, she and Rhett had abandoned Wade and Ella to Melanie's care. Scarlett recalled abruptly, without reason, Wade following her around with a picture book of pirates, begging her to read it, and shooing him away from her skirts.

Had Melanie read him those stories?

She looked at Wade as she finally answered Ella's uncomprehending question.

"No, darling. Aunt Melly didn't go like - like on a trip. Aunt Melly's gone to heaven."

"Oh," said Ella, still faintly puzzled. Ella knew her daddy was in heaven, but she'd been just a baby when he died. She understood that her daddy lived there, but she did not understand how someone else would go there, too. Wasn't it better at home? Why would Aunt Melly want to leave home?

Scarlett ignored Ella's puzzlement and lifted a cautious hand to brush the fall of brown curls from Wade's high forehead. His lower lip trembled violently as he tried to force it into a scowl, and he pulled away from her. Scarlet's hand dropped uselessly into her lap as her heart twitched with an unfamiliar stirring.

"She - she got sick very suddenly. There was nothing anyone could do. I know she loved you very much."

Ella began to sniffle. She tugged at Scarlett's arm. "Mother, I want Aunt Melly!"

Scarlett's eyes rolled heavenward in an automatic plea for strength - from God, Melly, Ellen - anyone. "Ella, darling, I'm sorry. Aunt Melly's up in heaven - like your father. You won't, I mean, you can't see her now."

Ella's narrow face scrunched up and she began to cry in earnest. Scarlett, at a loss, ignored her, and turned her attention to Wade. She wrapped her hands around Wade's skinny arms. Her son was too pale, too quiet. His father's eyes were too large in his small face, which now seemed young again. The premonition of manhood she had seen was gone.

"Wade," she began, but could think of nothing more to say. She felt Ella's face hot against the back of her sleeve, the dampness of tears soaking through to her skin.

"Where's Uncle Rhett?" Wade asked abruptly. Surely, Scarlett thought frantically, surely he couldn't know anything about that?

"Wade, darling," she began, but he interrupted her.

"If Aunt Melly's dead, why wouldn't Uncle Rhett tell us?"

Scarlett was indignant and uncomprehending. "Because I'm your mother, Wade Hampton, and you don't need Rhett Bu-"

"I want Uncle Rhett!" he yelled, and when he shrugged away from her hand as she reached to stroke his hair soothingly, the brittle restraint she had been clinging to splintered.

"Uncle Rhett is gone," she snapped. The frightening white pallor that flooded her son's face reproved her somewhat. "Not - not like Melly, Wade," and now she was frantic, desperate to pretend that this was just another minor trip, like so many he had taken through the years. "He's just - he's gone to see his mother in Charleston, that's all. He couldn't stay."

But she saw, without clear understanding, that the years of watching her and Rhett's low simmering war had taught him more than she had ever realized, as Wade twisted out of her grasp. His eyes were bitter.

"Aunt Melly loved us. Uncle Rhett loves us. Why do we have to be here with you?"

"I love you, too, Wade Hampton. You're my son -"

"I wish it was you!" He yelled. "I wish you were dead!"

Scarlett felt shocked and numb as she watched Wade run off, out of sight behind the house. It was the most fire she'd ever seen in her son, and even as it knocked her back and stung her heart, she felt in a way pleased by his outburst. Certainly he didn't seem afraid of her if he could shout at her like that. Guilt, too, rose like bile in her throat. His outburst was too similar to her own uncharitable thoughts about Ella after Bonnie's death. Ella, who still clung to her, worming her way under her mother's arms and pressing her hot, damp face against Scarlett's shoulders. Automatically, with a maternal reflex arriving years too late, she wrapped her arms around her daughter and smoothed her coarse curls. Scarlett's chest prickled, the skin tingling with a feeling of numb sensation struggling to return.

She had no words of comfort for the child. She had no comfort left in her. As Ella sobbed, Scarlett felt the wet slide of tears down her own cheeks.

...

Ella had cried in Scarlett's arms until she fell asleep, nestling against her while Scarlett leaned against the porch rails. Will, coming up to the house for dinner, carried the little girl up to the nursery. Scarlett trailed behind him, twisting her hands, and tucked her daughter into bed. Conscious of Will's presence, she kissed her daughter's tear-stained cheek before Ella turned over and snuggled into the pillow.

Scarlett followed Will back downstairs. No one spoke, but he seemed to know, in his clear, intuitive way, that she needed to talk, and he went into her mother's old study. She followed and shut the door behind them, then sagged against it weakly.

Bonnie, Melly, Rhett. Wade. One sharp little pain after another, and each loss added its heavy weight to her shoulders. It seemed all the mistakes of her life were catching up to her at once. Mistakes she hadn't even known she was making, in her own blindness and stupidity and obstinate self-importance. She had done everything, or nearly everything wrong. With that history, how would she ever be able to set anything right? And so many things could not be fixed now; Bonnie, and Melly.

In the unlit gloom of Ellen's office, she remembered seeking refuge in the very same room after fleeing burning Atlanta. She was no longer hungry, mired in poverty, physically exhausted; but she felt a similar mental weariness dragging her down. Her will had not given out yet. She had found courage and strength she hadn't known she had in those dark days, and she marshalled them to her breast again.

Will sat on the sofa, the same sagging old piece of furniture that had been there since Scarlett's childhood. She did not trust herself not to fall apart if she joined him there, sitting together like old friends. To keep her distance, she perched on the edge of her mother's fragile writing chair. Will draped his arm over the back of the sofa and stretched out one long leg.

Scarlett clenched her hands into fists to keep from worrying them together. "Have you seen Wade, Will?"

"Saw him headin' down to the river. He looked mighty upset, Scarlett." Will paused, and she looked over her shoulder at the towering secretary, avoiding his eyes.

"I'm sure Miss Melly's death is hard for the boy, but I can't help but feel there's more you're not tellin'."

Scarlett wanted to tell him. Will was just like a brother, and he had always been a steady friend. But it was one thing to bury the words in Mammy's comforting bosom, under cover of darkness. It would be quite another to face it in the daylight.

"I feel so much stronger out here, Will. Tara is home - it's comfort. After...Melly's funeral... " Her chin trembled and she bit the inside of her cheek. "It's just like Pa said. The Irish get their strength from the land, and I guess I'm as Irish as anyone."

"You haven't told me the real reason you're here, Scarlett."

Will's mild eyes were calm and open, and they saw too clearly. But she looked at him, and squared her shoulders.

"Rhett left me. He wants a divorce." Scarlett's voice was flat and unemotional. Hot panic clawed up her throat in the wake of those words. She clenched her jaw against the threat of more tears.

Will's expression did not shift, but he blushed faintly at the bald, intimate admission.

"I refused, and so he left," she went on after a moment. "I'm not sure where he went. He said he'd come back - he'd come back some, but I don't know when. I don't even know if he really will."

"Do the children know?"

"I was telling them about Melanie, and Wade...he...of course they were close. It's hard for all of us. But he doesn't want to be here - with me. He asked for Rhett." She sighed and pressed damp palms into her skirts. "I shouldn't have let him rile me. I only told them Rhett is gone. I said it was just a visit to his mother."

Will did not ask what happened. It hurt for a moment; did he think her so harsh that he felt no surprise that Rhett would want to leave her? Peering at him she could find no condemnation in his face. He was just being a gentleman, and not prying into her life.

A hot flare of nostalgia threatened to spill into tears, and she leapt to her feet and crossed the room to stand staring at the shuttered window. Rhett had never hesitated to pry into her affairs, and suddenly she was in her wagon heading out Peachtree road to the mills and Rhett was beside her; she was on the steps of Aunt Pitty's porch with Rhett seated at her knees; his swarthy face filled her mind and he laughed and jeered and pried with questions no gentleman would have asked. He had had such a keen interest in her, and she hadn't seen the truth behind his mockery. Oh, she had been blind, but why hadn't he been honest? He knew her so well - he knew her even when she had wished desperately to hide from him, and she had never, ever known or understood him. He had taught her a harsh lesson, she thought, and her mouth turned down.

"I couldn't stay in Atlanta, Will." Scarlett spoke quietly, surprised at how level her voice was. "Yes, I do find strength out here. That is truth. I'm sure you know, because Suellen would have heard and been all too happy to share, that Atlanta doesn't think very much of me. They've only been nice to me - when they've suffered my presence at all - these last few years because of Melanie. I don't know what I'll do now, without her. And I don't know what I'll do about Rhett. Tara can't give me the answers, but it comforts me. Pa told me once that to the Irish, the land they live on is like their mother. I lived here, and it's the only mother I have left."

"You're always welcome at Tara," Will said, just as he had the night she arrived.

"Thank you," she answered. They were both silent a moment. "I just don't know what to do about Wade."

"He's had quite a blow, Scarlett. He was awfully close to his Aunt Melanie."

Scarlett sighed. Will didn't say it, but she knew Melly had been more than a second mother to her children; sometimes, she had been more like their only mother. _A cat's a better mother than you are_. She would just have to show him otherwise. She had always meant to be a good mother, one day, when there was time. She had time now, if it wasn't already too late.

"He told me he hates me."

"Well, I reckon he didn't really mean that. He's just a boy who's in a lot of pain, and he doesn't know what to do about it."

"I don't know what to do _for_ him, Will!"

"Just give him some time, Scarlett." Her shoulders drooped. Time! If she gave him any more time, he'd be a man, away at college, with his own family, and then it truly would be too late. "I suppose I can talk to him some."

"Oh, Will, could you? It would be so helpful."

"Yes, Scarlett, I'll try and talk to him. I'll go and bring him in for dinner."

He touched her shoulder briefly before he left.

Scarlett was grateful to him for the simplicity of his response, indebted to him for his discretion - for she was sure this would never reach Suellen's ears. But he knew, now, how and why she needed this rest at Tara, and it seemed to make her burden just a little bit lighter.

Somehow, she would move forward. She would spend time with her children, and maybe Wade would soften.

And then somehow, she would get Rhett back. She had known she must since he had turned his back on her that night. There were so few people left in the world who loved her - who knew her, and loved her - Rhett _must_. She would not stand for any more losing.

 _I still have some time_ , she thought. _It can't be too late. He said he would come back. I don't know when, so I must be ready_. She dashed at the tears that had finally overwhelmed her efforts to hold them back. _I'll pull myself together, and when we return to Atlanta I'll keep doing everything Melly made me do. I'll stay in their stupid sewing circles and fundraisers and I will show Rhett I can be a real lady. I always meant to be, and I just better do it now before it's too late. I'll show him he can have peace and grace in Atlanta. I'll make him see, somehow, how much I love him_.

She had survived Yankees and poverty and hunger and the loss of her children. Surely getting one man, even one stubborn, hard, difficult man, to fall in love with her again couldn't be as arduous as all that. She had never failed to get a man in love with her. Those same old tricks wouldn't do for Rhett, at least not by themselves, for he had never fallen for her eyelashes and dimples; but she would manage it.

 _I can do it, though_ , she thought. _I'll show Rhett Butler. He can't just walk out on Scarlett O'Hara_.

"I'm his wife, damn him!" She exclaimed out loud, and clapped her hands over her mouth.

Enough of this foolishness. Nothing was going to happen hiding away in the dark. She stood and arranged her skirts carefully before going out to see if supper was ready.

Mrs. Butler would _make_ him give a damn.

...

Will brought a sullen Wade in for dinner, and they went out again together when the meal was through. Ella and Suellen's girls ran off once the dishes were cleared away. Scarlett watched the four girls with a warmth born of her own memories of growing up at Tara. She giggled as she thought of showing Ella the best tree to climb. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea - that would be spending time together, wouldn't it?

Scarlett was smiling at her sister with nostalgia, thinking with rosy inaccuracy about their own girlhood.

"Will you be staying long, Scarlett?"

"Oh, I don't know, Sue. It's so nice for Wade and Ella to spend time here. I didn't want to bring them back to Atlanta yet. It will be such a different place, without Melly."

Suellen look chastened. "Yes. We were very sorry to hear about Melanie. She was a good friend."

 _Hah_ , scoffed Scarlett to herself. _When were you ever a friend to her? She was just as sick as you during the war but you never cared if she had to work more while you complained and quit_.

"We loved her very much," she said out loud.

Suellen did not trouble herself to keep quiet as Scarlett had.

"Did you? Well it's nice of you to say it now."

"Of course I did! She was like a sister to me." _And_ , she thought, _a good sight better than my real sisters, too_.

"Oh I know she was! You never did mind stealing a man even from your own sister."

"Suellen! How dare you...I never—"

"No, I suppose you didn't, after all. But I'm not blind Scarlett, and everyone can see how you've taken after Ashley all these years."

"Ashley is a dear friend," said Scarlett, stiffly.

"And a widower, now. Too bad you're still married. Knowing you, I'm sure you'll fix that soon enough."

That cut her too deeply. Scarlett was panting, now, as if struggling to breathe through some physical pain.

"How dare you—"

"No!" interrupted Suellen. "I don't want to hear a word from you about daring, you of all people. Don't think I've forgotten how you lit out of here and stole _my_ beau, married Frank and left us all here to deal with the work and the poverty while you had fine new dresses and a carriage and the man who should have been _my_ husband!"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? Are you trying to say you didn't steal my Frank -"

"If you couldn't keep him any better than that, you didn't deserve to have him. Do you think I married Frank because I wanted to? I married him to keep this roof over your head! For you, and Carreen, and Pa - and if you only knew, Suellen, what kind of husband Frank Kennedy turned out to be, why you'd be on your knees thanking me for what I did. You should be anyway, how do you think Tara was able to keep going? I didn't stop supporting Tara until Will married you. And he is a far sight better husband than Frank ever was."

"Don't expect me to thank you, Scarlett," spat Suellen. "Will's a good man but that doesn't change what you did."

"I did what I had to do."

"Yes, you just keeping telling yourself that," she sneered. "If it helps you sleep at night - only I don't see that it does, does it? I heard you, Scarlett, screaming in your sleep. Doesn't seem to me that you're resting easily at all."

Scarlett clenched her fists in the table cloth, her knuckles white with tension. She had no response for that. Her dreams were no one's business but hers. Who would understand? The old nightmare _had_ come back, had disturbed her sleep almost every night since Melly had died and Rhett had left. It came with a vengeful regularity that kept her awake too late for fear of it. It felt so real again; running through fog, cold and alone, for where could she go? No one would take her in. Not even at Tara was she truly welcomed, despite Will's words. She remembered the revelation that had struck her the night of Melly's death - Rhett, the light and safety and strength she was seeking. And he was gone, and would provide no shelter, no love to warm her.

Suellen recoiled at the emptiness that flooded her sister's eyes. It seemed the dining room had suddenly gone dark. The sun that had shone in through the tall windows must have slipped behind a cloud. Then a clear, high scream cut through the heavy air.

"Mother! Owww!" Scarlett snapped back to life.

"Ella!" She pushed herself up from the table, ready to run to her daughter.

The moment passed and bitter spite clawed at Suellen again. She could not resist a parting jab, "Are you finally being a mother to your children? Too bad it's too late for Bonnie." But even as she said it she knew she had gone too far, and was thankful that Scarlett's hurried flight had carried her from the room before the words had left her lips.

Ella was clutching her knee in the worn dirt path that wound around the side of the house. An old tree root had started to push up through the ground across it, just high enough to catch at little feet and trip them. Ella's face was red as she screwed it up and wailed for her mother, but dry.

Scarlett felt a reflexive distaste as she crouched in the dirt and the dust settled on her skirts. Brusquely, she pulled Ella's hands away, checked the rip in the stocking beneath, and found just a scraped, reddened knee.

"Hush now, Ella, you've just scraped it. Stop carrying on so."

Ella sniveled and swiped at her nose, then threw her arms around her mother. _Oh for heaven's sake_ , thought Scarlett as she awkwardly patted the narrow back, trying to soothe her with a patience that Scarlett did not truly possess.

"You're just fine, Ella. Stop this now."

Ella's back heaved under Scarlett's hands as she got her sniffling under control. Scarlett smiled down at her, a warm and motherly look with just a hint of her impatience showing in the tight corners of her eyes. As silly as it seemed, it was nice to be the one comforting her child, to be the parent Ella had called for. As mush as she loved - had loved Bonnie, she knew Rhett had been first in their daughter's heart. Ella's clinging, skinny arms gratified Scarlett. As she looked into Ella's watery eyes, and the tears now clearing streaks down her dirty face, Scarlett did feel a rush of tender feeling for her daughter. The only little girl Scarlett had, now, and she didn't have the beauty or spirit of Bonnie, but she was her daughter just the same.

Scarlett kissed her daughter's coarse curls awkwardly. "Good girl, Ella. You're fine. Go on back to the kitchen and get Mammy to clean you up. Go on, darling."

Ella nodded, and her mouth opened but closed without speaking. As Scarlett watched her turn behind the house for the kitchen door, her eyes caught Wade's. He was standing against a tree, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. As soon as their eyes met, he scowled, and turned away.

...

That night, Ella clung to Scarlett. She refused to sleep in the nursery with her cousins. Too tired for an argument, Scarlett relented, and Ella curled up like a puppy next to her mother. She slept with a smile on her face. Scarlett absently stroked her daughter's hair as she waited for her own sleep to come.

Some haven! She felt even more drained than when she had left Atlanta. It had been so difficult to tell Ella and Wade about their Aunt Melly. She felt like she had betrayed them herself, somehow, bringing them that news. Of course Wade would wish it was she, Scarlett, who had died. She couldn't blame him.

For one black moment, she felt like she was standing in the path of an oncoming train, as the weight of everything bore down on her with a rush. Melly, Rhett, Bonnie - oh, if only she _had_ died!

But her selfish, stubborn mind shied away from such thoughts. She had worked too hard at living, these last ten years, to be defeated now by simple hurt. A broken heart would not succeed where war and hunger and poverty had failed. Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow, she would walk the hills and grounds of home, and draw the strength of the earth into her bones and her heart.

Scarlett sighed into the darkness as her head grew heavy with sleep. She already missed Rhett so much. If only he hadn't left. If only Melly hadn't died!

She had never been intuitive, and the secretive hearts of others would never be an easy thing for her to grasp, but as she gnawed on her own pain at Melly's loss she also felt a debasing guilt over how she had treated Rhett after Bonnie's death. Wade's rejection cut her, and yet it was a shadow of the horrible things she had said to Rhett. She was hurt and alone, and this must be how Rhett had felt. She really had ruined everything.

She had drawn on her own strength in those dark days after Bonnie's death, and she would do so again. But how nice it would be, to be held in his strong arms, soothed and petted and kept safe. If only they had found comfort in each other then.

Scarlett tossed her head suddenly, frustrated. _I have to stop this looking back. It just drags at me. I have to look forward. I can't get Rhett back if I keep turning over old times in my head, old mistakes, old foolishness, until they're all I can see. I have to face the future, and be ready for it_.

 _I won't let you go, Rhett Butler_.

 **z**

Scarlett, crying out, woke herself in the middle of the night. Ella's tight, worried face loomed over her, and soft small hands patted her cheek frantically.

"Mother? Mother what's wrong? Oh, Mother, don't leave, don't die!"

Scarlett's heart was racing and she trembled all over. The nightmare, the same old dream. She grasped Ella's hands in her own and shushed her.

"Mother just had a bad dream. I'm fine, Ella. It's alright."

As she fell toward sleep again, her arms tight around her daughter, she thought how sweet a child's presence could be. No wonder Rhett hadn't minded having Bonnie in his room. And that was just another thing he'd taken from her.

...

To Scarlett's relief, the successive days at Tara unfurled peacefully, if tensely. Suellen was stiff, but they managed to remain polite - though they hardly spoke outside the unavoidable burden of mealtime conversation. Wade remained sullen and withdrawn. She tried to draw him out at table, but she did not know how to engage with even a happy, outgoing child; the secret of getting one sad and reticent little boy to open up to her was far beyond her. He spent the days walking the plantation with Will, to Scarlett's gratitude. Ella would not leave her side, but whatever mood had possessed the child, it had also left her more quiet and withdrawn than usual, and so Scarlett was rarely strained by the attachment. She felt gratified that at least one of her children did seem to love her.

Scarlett spent hours on the porch. Ella would play with her cousins, as long as she could see her mother when she turned around. Tara hummed with activity, a buzzing atmosphere that energized Scarlett. From the porch, the rhythms of the cotton harvest surrounded her.

The songs of the hired field hands carried clearly under the late summer sun. It could almost be like the war had never happened, with the bustle of harvest all around her, a busy kitchen providing food for all, black and white children playing in the yard around the house. Only her heart seemed changed. A decade ago, there would have been beaux on the porch steps, teasing and coquetry.

"Miss Scarlett, you is gon' get freckled an' brown as a fe'el han settin' out here wid no shawl on yo' shoulders." Mammy shuffled slowly across the floorboards to where Scarlett sat in the sunlight that curled around the edges of the sagging porch roof. No, it wasn't the same as before the war. Mammy was old and tired, and it was obvious in her slow movements and the lack of strength in her voice. She hounded Scarlett as carefully as ever, but there was no passion in the old admonishments. Tara was dingy and drooping at the edges. Paint peeled, the floor creaked; the small town of outbuildings had never been completely rebuilt. Will worked hard, and did the best he could. Tara was in better shape than many of their neighbors, sold and parceled out to small tenants, but it would never be the same again.

Well, none of them were the same.

Scarlett tugged at the worn shawl Mammy laid across her shoulders. "Thank you, Mammy." She heard the old feet scuffing the floorboards as Mammy walked back into the house, caught faint mumblings from under the old woman's breath.

"Ain't never had no sense...strangers runnin' all ovah...no manners roun' heah no more…"

Scarlett smiled to herself. She picked up a paper from the table beside her. Will had brought a week's worth of Daily Heralds back from Jonesboro. She skimmed them lazily, more interested in the ads of competing stores than the dry bits of news from Atlanta and the rest of the South. Certainly it was more important to know what the competition was doing with their prices so she could wire her own store to adapt!

But her eyes tripped on the large letters, standing alone at the top of a column. THE PANIC! What was this?

 **THE PANIC**

AMONG OUR BANKERS YESTERDAY

How Atlanta Took the Shock of the Storm

Incidents of the "Run," and Notes on the Street.

Old fears swooped back, the dread of losing everything, and her hand flew to her throat. She pored over the papers, now, her sharp eyes searching for that dreadful word - panic - bank runs! Was there never an end to trouble? In the middle of all this wrenching loss, at least she had still had the security of the money that she had worked so hard to earn. Was that now to be lost, too? Her chest heaved against the constraints of her corset, the mad flutter of her heart forced hot, panicked blood through her veins. A bead of sweat formed at her temple. This could not happen.

The papers were full of reassurances of the strength and solvency of the Atlanta banks _.They just don't want to scare people_ , she thought. _I hardly believe them. Oh, if only Rhett were here! Or if I just knew where he was to ask him - I don't know what I'll do_.

She would have to go back to Atlanta, now. She couldn't stay here, buried in the familiar rhythms of home, when everything she had struggled and scraped together might be vanishing even as the cotton bolls were being plucked from the red fields.

Her hands clenched and crumpled the fragile paper. Back to Atlanta; to a huge, empty house, to the disapproving stares of her neighbors, and there would be no Rhett with his overpoweringly large frame to fill the emptiness, no Melly to shield her with quiet, steely strength.

A sharp-edged sorrow settled in her, a feeling that seemed to sit just behind her heart, and an aching pain speared down her backbone. They were her new companions, now, a twin assault that robbed her of equilibrium and confidence. The ache lingered, sometimes gentle enough that she could forget the hurt, until a quiet moment would catch her sinking in it, and then her heart would sting as sorrow jabbed her deeply, momentarily stopping her breath.

The moment of acute pain passed, fading to a dull ache. Scarlett smoothed the paper across her knees. She wasn't ready for this, was not ready to leave the shelter of Tara for the brutal loneliness and judgement of the outside world. But a threat to her security - to the security she had thieved and connived and bought so that her children would never suffer as she had - was not a threat that could be borne hiding out.

It was time to face Atlanta.

* * *

 _Author's Note: There are a few chapters later on with M-rated content (for sexual situations). I have clearly labeled these so they can be avoided if you prefer. Since that content represents a minority of the complete work, I feel the T rating is accurate to the story as a whole. I do know that's not everyone's cup of tea, so please pay attention to the notes at the top of chapters. Thank you!_


	2. Chapter 2

_The story of that past, Lorena,_

 _Alas! I care not to repeat_

\- Rev. Henry D. L. Webster, "Lorena"

* * *

 _Somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean, September 1873_

"You got yourself a fine filly, Henry."

"Yes, my Anne's a real winner."

"With a prize purse, to boot!"

The three men guffawed. The first speaker, of lanky build and with a head of thin blond hair that rose above those of his shorter companions, clapped the third man on the shoulder for his joke. The second man, Henry, smiled with self-indulgent pride and folded his hands together on his paunch. Cigar smoke hung heavily over the trio's heads and spread through the rest of the ship's smoking room like thin cloud cover.

Rhett exhaled, sending his own swirl of tobacco up to mingle in the still air. He'd left Atlanta to seek quiet and gentility, but so-called quality companionship had so far failed to stir him at all. He had expected - something, at least. For charm to exert a magnetic pull on his battered soul. For comfort in respectability; dignity and grace to envelop him in their warmth and put some of the glow back in life. Instead, he found the men coarse and the ladies vapid. It seemed true honor had left this world with Melanie Wilkes.

He raised his black eyes to Heaven for Melly; and spat in the spittoon by his chair for the name of Wilkes. The action had the nonchalance of habit. He paused a moment to wait for the familiar stirring of contempt within himself and just felt cold. Atlanta's earthy vitality had scraped against live-wire nerve endings, but he was cauterized now.

He didn't think of Scarlett anymore than he thought consciously of how to breathe. And when he woke up in the middle of the night, pinched out of sleep by a tightness in his chest and having to force himself to draw deep breaths, he was aware of memory, without impact.

He didn't have much thought for it at all. He was moving through the world now in a haze like the smoke above his head. The hum of conversation flowed around him, and he let it pass, disturbing him as little as a slow stream could move a boulder. He sunk into the flow of life as an observer, and it suited him. It was what he was after, at any rate. The outer semblance of things - to share cigars and brandy with these men, to allow himself to be painted with the same brush of respectability by association.

Brandy glasses clinked. Rhett rose from the low leather club chair and moved restlessly through the dim room.

In the corner a card game had sprung up. Four men - boys, really, with bright eyes and boisterous voices and the heady enthusiasm young, rich men possess for all the world has to offer them.

"Sir! You must join us. Deal him in, Andrew, come now, make room, make room!"

Rhett took the empty chair the young speaker dragged over from a nearby table. He shook hands over the baize-topped table, making the acquaintance of Andrew Cabot, Samuel Putnam, Walter Black, and Edward Winthrop. Sturdy Yankees all, with nasal New York voices.

The poker play went long into the night, backed by deep familial pockets. It was Edward who had drawn him into the game, and seemed to be the most outspoken of the men. A redhead with white, freckled skin, the pallor a stark contrast to his gregarious demeanor.

"So, Captain Butler, where are you headed?"

Rhett flicked ash off the tip of his cigar and shrugged. "I'm making my way to Paris, at the moment. I don't know if that will be my final destination."

"Paris! Have you been there before? We are aimed towards la belle ville, and beyond. Yes, we plan to see everything fair Europe has to offer."

"I was in England frequently during the War, and spent some time in Paris as well."

"Oh ho! You weren't one of those rebel blockade runners, my good Captain?"

"So I was."

This revelation was met with calls for more brandy, and whisky, and the boys leaned forward over the green baize with bright, eager eyes. The cards and war stories kept them going until the late night tipped into very early morning. Rhett played a careful game. With his experience and unshakable poker face, he could have fleeced those young bucks of every pleasure penny they had on them. But they were innocent, friendly young men, and he had no need of cash. He had more use for their company than their money, and too much appreciation for the companionship.

The remainder of the Atlantic crossing passed quickly, with his new Yankee friends in a state of near hero-worship. They played cards every night, and wagered on shuffleboard in the afternoons. Rhett experienced a paternal camaraderie that recalled his time spent in the Confederate Army, though he did not dwell on the unhappy comparison. It was far more pleasant to observe indulgently as these young men tested the limits of their whisky tolerance than it had been to watch the young soldiers discover just how long their bare feet could support them through deep snow. Nothing so trite as making him feel young again, nor old; he felt removed from time. Life was clearly progressing, as one morning they awoke with the French port of Le Havre before them where there had been only distant horizons when the sun went down. Yet he still felt like the boulder in the stream, locked in a solid state while the world went on around him. But it was a pleasant enough world, with card games, fine liquor, and finer manners.

Rhett had come this far one step at a time. The trains out of Atlanta, out of Charleston; the ship out of New York. He had no set plans, nor destination.

"Captain Butler!" Andrew Cabot hailed him on the quay, and Rhett shouldered his way through the disembarking crowd. "Captain Butler, will you join us in Paris? We've taken rooms at the Hôtel Meurice. You won't find any finer in the whole city - or so we've been told. Have you made accommodations?"

"Thank you, Andrew. No - I didn't set anything in advance. That's a very fine hotel."

"Will we see more of you then, Captain Butler? Your knowledge of the city would be invaluable. Of course, we haven't the slightest idea what we're doing - I'm sure the usual. Museums, galleries, shops. I think we all have pages of shopping lists from home."

Rhett felt a ripple of tension in his back and shoulders, and he cast it off with a shrug. "I will look forward to it."

Hôtel Meurice was one of the oldest and finest hotels in Paris. The lobby was staid and quiet, the rooms plushly appointed with a simple elegance totally lacking from Scarlett's overdone house. It felt just as much like home, which was not really at all. _Home_ had an emotional weight that had left this world with Bonnie.

Getting on with those Yankee boys turned out to be a stroke of luck. They knew only as much about himself as he told them, and he painted a dashing portrait of the former blockade runner without a care in the world past how to spend that illicit fortune. He let their social whirl sweep him along, and felt released from the burden of looking up old acquaintances, men and women who would know the full story of his life since the war. No one would pry; the unspoken codes of their dissolute life paid full respect to the sanctity of secrets and skeletons in the closet. But he preferred this definitive cut with ties from the old days. Instead, he had an entrée back into respectable, old money life - the parlors and drawing rooms he had turned his back on after his father had thrown him out. The boys served almost as well as a bridge to society as Bonnie had in his war against the old matrons of Atlanta. All that really mattered was that the rich - old or new - served the same expensive champagne that got him drunk just as well.

He raised the shallow-bowled glass of their host's finest bottle in a toast with his new friends. The ballroom air was golden and overheated, crowded shoulder to shoulder with the men and women of the beau monde. He tossed back the rest of the glass and slipped it on the tray of a passing footman.

A small hand pressed another stemmed glass into his own.

"Captain Butler, I believe?" murmured a warm, husky voice. He accepted the glass automatically and sipped it as he took in the intruder.

She was a tall woman, though he was still a much taller man. The top of her head only just passed his chin. Blonde hair piled elegantly high and clear grey eyes met his across her own champagne glass. He smiled.

"Mademoiselle, you have me at a disadvantage. I am Captain Butler, but I don't believe I have made your charming acquaintance."

She did not giggle like a flattered belle, but gave him an arch smile.

"Won't you ask me to dance?"

Rhett bowed, shortly, keeping his dark eyes on the lady's face. "My manners are inexcusable. Of course, mademoiselle, won't you dance with me?"

She laughed lightly and allowed him to lead her out to the middle of the ballroom as the waltz began to play.

"But I still don't know you, my dear lady. How shall I know with what name to tease you?"

"Oh my, Captain Butler, but perhaps it is I who wish to tease you?"

"Then you must be a very bold and daring woman, to take such a risk. Don't you know I have the temper of a bear?"

"I'm sure I haven't paid any attention to such evident falsehoods. Why all the girls can see you just need the right - hand - to soothe you."

"And are your hands so soothing?"

"Perhaps, monsieur. But I don't believe I've riled you yet."

"Is that your plan? You must be confident in your own abilities to...soothe, if you are willing to run the risk of poking the bear, as they say."

"I believe you would find me to be perfectly soothing," she murmured, pressing too close even for the lax boundaries of the waltz. "You may call me Louise."

"Chère Louise," he murmured, and let his hand slide low on her back, coming to rest against the top of her full bustle. His elegant dance partner favored him with another smile. Rhett marked the steps of the waltz and the lines of flirtation by rote instinct, the familiar rhythm of conversation carrying him along with little effort on his own part.

When the waltz died away, he led her to the refreshment table.

"Captain Butler, will you stay in Paris long?"

"I have no fixed plans."

"I do so hope to deepen our acquaintance."

"I'm sure you have many fascinating acquaintances pressing for your time." Rhett bowed low to air a kiss over her well manicured hand. "My thanks for the waltz."

…

Paris was chill and grey, and a pall that was not from the weather hung over the drawing rooms and parties of the expatriates and diplomats. The financial news had arrived from America. The Cooke failure and the events it precipitated tightened the purse strings around many necks. Rhett watched with a weather eye but little concern; most of his business interests were outside New York, and no longer in railroads. The money was in Atlanta, and though the papers brought news of the stir in that town, the Atlanta banks held solid against the tide of failures in the north. His legitimate business interests appeared safe; the _illegitimate_ interests always thrived in times of unrest. He never had parted with his share of Belle's house, and his saloon ownerships rivaled only his wife's.

For the first time since he left Atlanta, he thought of Scarlett with serious interest. Her money - because it was _his_ money - would also be largely untouched by the falling fortunes, as would her investments in cheap saloons. Barroom business should boom with men seeking to drown their sorrows, and throwing money they could no longer afford into the bottle. The lumber business might suffer, but of course he had engineered that severance in vain years earlier. And the store would be pinched as the good citizens of Atlanta tightened their belts.

In his room at the Meurice, Rhett raised a glass of whisky to toast the low burning fire. "I hope you're telling the world to go to hell, honey." If anyone could keep a business afloat and find a way to profit while the town bled dry around her, it would be his erstwhile wife. Her bullheaded determination to protect her own ass would drive her.

He finished the liquor with one smooth, practiced motion, and poured himself another from the hotel's elegant cut glass decanter.

…

The boys he'd taken up with remained in high spirits. Their letters from home were full of reassurances and entreaties to enjoy their time abroad, as part of the lucky ones escaping the wave of loss so far - or misled by foolishly optimistic families. They continued to pursue the things young, educated, wealthy American men were supposed to enjoy in Europe. For men, drinking, gambling, and women were tolerated, and expected. As fall stumbled wearily towards winter, and worry hummed through their set, they sought gaiety like a charm against worry.

In ballrooms, the crush of people provided more heat than the fires. Champagne, wine, and brandy bolstered flagging spirits with false hope. Rhett felt the familiar, and unwelcome, stirrings of contempt for blind fools who refused to face facts and stumbled headlong into ruin - or war. Fearing the loss of self-restraint, he had slipped away from the card tables at the latest crush.

"Captain Butler, you have not called on me," a husky, familiar voice accosted him as he pushed through the throng.

"I am a poor excuse for a gentleman," Rhett replied evenly, bending low over the pale skin of Louise's proffered hand.

They waltzed sedately on the crowded dance floor. Rhett's arms were loose, but Louise pressed herself indecently close. Her low neckline hid little from his downcast gaze. Her skin was smooth, as white as the magnolias of his homeland. He moved leisurely in the rhythm of the dance, and turned a black eye to the movements of the surrounding couples so he could steer them clear.

As the notes of the waltz died, to be reborn with a different tune, he offered his arm to Louise to escort her from the floor. She pressed her long, elegant fingers against his dark sleeve.

"I feel faint, Captain Butler. I must take the air. Please, do escort me to the garden."

"Of course, mademoiselle. I should so hate to cause a scene in the middle of the dance floor."

The fall night air was almost uncomfortably chill, but he did not offer her his jacket. The terrace was dimly lit with large pools of pale light from the tall windows. One narrow corner at each end of the long stone gallery was dark, in the small space with no window before the terrace railing cut in. Rhett made no move to withdraw his arm as Louise led him out of the reach of the light.

Louise turned so her back was against the cold wall and pulled him close. "It's terribly cold tonight, isn't it?" Her hands slid up his biceps slowly. Rhett watched he. Her pale face stood out in the darkness, but it was hard to read without a true light source. Not that it mattered; the game was clear, and he knew it well.

"You might catch a chill," Rhett murmured, before he bent his head to kiss her. Louise was tall enough that he had barely to lean down to catch her lips with his own. They were cooled from the night air. He kissed her softly, waiting for her lips to warm, for the rush of familiar heat to pass between their mouths. She pressed herself up to him, so that he could feel the tops of her breasts through his thin shirtfront. Her lips parted, and her breath rushed over his mouth, infinitesimally stirring his clipped mustache and nothing else. He did not warm, but shuddered with a sudden chill. A breeze must have come up swiftly, for the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he felt cold all over.

He pressed her mouth softly, then released her and moved away. He did not look at her as he said, "I should hate for you to become ill. This air is too harsh." He left the terrace without looking to see if she followed.

The warm crush of the ballroom contrasted strongly with the brisk air outdoors, and Rhett felt clammy sweat beading on the back of his neck. He shouldered his way through the crowd with ease, as people moved quickly out of the way of his powerful body and dark expression. He followed a trail of black jacketed men to a smoking room, the atmosphere heavy from a multitude of cigars, the conversations a convivial murmur around green-topped tables and in small groups of low club chairs. Edward beckoned him to a faro table. His friend's pale white, freckled skin stood out in the dim room.

"Captain Butler, join us. Here, Andrew, budge up, make some room." Andrew scooted his chair to one side to make enough room for Rhett to move around an empty chair and join them at the table.

Rhett lost money that night. He tried to play with careful cultivated balance, that break-even style of play that required even more intelligent judgement than outright playing to win. But his luck was broken; he couldn't turn the hands to his advantage, couldn't see the necessary forms. A whisky glass appeared at his elbow, and though he drank steadily it seemed never to empty. That cool imperturbability to drink failed him, and dulled his own awareness of how his body sagged and his voice grew slurred.

By the time Andrew and Edward slung his arms over their shoulders and hauled him to the waiting carriage, he was sodden with drink, slurring, and stumbling over his own feet. He let himself be helped up the narrow hotel stairs, but even in his disoriented inebriation he would not let them in his room to be put to bed like an infant. He closed the door too firmly in their faces, too drunk to moderate his own strength.

The room was dark, barely lit by moonlight alone. Rhett did not attempt to start the fire that had been neatly laid for his return, but stumbled to a chair beside the cold hearth. He knocked his knee hard against the side table and dropped heavily into the seat, cursing in thick, incomprehensible words.

 _I need a drink_ , he thought, heedless of the many drinks he'd already had, knowing only that he still felt that chill in his bones that had come over him on the terrace. He was drowning in cold emptiness, and he could not let himself sink. The whisky burn was all that kept the numbness away, kept the ghosts that rose up in his empty spaces from coming to the fore. Bonnie would be there, but it hurt too much to think of his daughter. When the darkness rose and brought her ghost from his heart, it chased the numb protection before it, exposing him again to the utter despair of her loss.

His hands were clumsy, uncontrollable, and the whisky slopped messily over the sides of the glass as he poured it too quickly from the brown, unlabeled bottle. He tossed half the glass back in one movement, graceful even in his disarray. He slumped in the low chair, cradling the glass in one hand and staring into the dark liquid. His black gaze was intense and almost meditative as he fought to keep his mind carefully blank, to think of nothing but the whisky, to feel nothing but the burn in his throat and let the smooth blanket of drunkenness muffle his brain.

But Bonnie's voice found him any way, high and clear in the still room. "Nasty!" With a savage roar, Rhett threw the glass away from him and it shattered against the mantel. He _was_ nasty; low, dirty, and fetid with alcohol. He was the beast groveling in the mud that _she_ had accused him of being. The room began to spin, a rushing sensation that dragged at his consciousness like the tide of a whirlpool. With an effort of strength not yet drained away by drink, he hauled himself to his feet and stumbled to the wide empty bed. The thick mattress sank beneath his bloated body, cradling him while the room lost all focus and whirled horribly, bringing a rising nausea that lingered uncomfortably in his gut and squeezed his throat. The black night swirled behind his eyelids and Bonnie danced in the waves, her face a horrible blur, her voice bright and painfully piercing as she laughed until at last he was pulled under.

He dreamt of Bonnie in her mother's arms, but he would not remember it in the morning. In the morning, he would feel nauseous and vile, and he would not remember anything.

…

 _Paris, October 1873_

It rained for three days while Rhett dried out, keeping to his room and away from the bottle. When the sun rose on the fourth day, he ventured from the hotel to again take in the sights of Paris with his young acquaintances. At the Louvre, the high ceilings and empty halls echoed faintly. Rhett slipped away from his companions, aimlessly walking the floors on his own. The dark, restless battle scenes he had most appreciated as a younger man now seemed curiously, simultaneously bleak and throbbing. The tense juxtaposition of bodies rushing headlong into death. He did not wish to recall his short stint in the Confederate Army, his own motives for which had always confused even himself. He was too old now to see any glory in fighting. Under the surface, the fatalism of these paintings troubled his numb equilibrium uncomfortably.

Rhett passed blind portraits without returning their blank stares, strolled through bright gardens without seeing light. A gilded Byzantine Madonna caught his eye. The gold edges of the frame were worn. Her almond eyes were dark in a serene face and the untroubled gaze was calming. Such placidity and grace recalled Melanie Wilkes to him, and Rhett felt a cool rushing whisper over his soul. He studied the homunculus Jesus in the Madonna's arms. Suddenly unsettled, he moved on.

He went outside, and found a sheltered spot in the arcades of the Palais-Royal where the brisk wind didn't immediately douse the flame he lit for his cigar. Water still puddled in the shade around the bases of columns, not yet dried out by the weak sunlight that struggled against the overcast sky. He flicked ash into a puddle and watch the black specks sink.

A little girl ran past the archway, laughing. Carriage wheels clattered on the stones as a woman, following, pushed a pram before her. The little girl darted in and out of the arcade, with long curls flying behind her. In the dim world her hair was nondescript, neither blonde nor brown, and she was clothed in sensible black. She was nothing like Bonnie and yet Rhett's chest clenched painfully as he watched her play.

How old was she? He was no judge of children's ages. _Older than Bonnie_ , was the only reference that came to mind immediately. Older than Bonnie. Older than Bonnie would ever be. A height Bonnie would never reach, in a city she would never see. Alive, as his daughter was not.

Rhett turned away, staring with blank eyes until the tight knot of pain in his chest released. He pulled the cigar from his lips to breathe deeply in the damp air. He remembered, at last, another little girl, who was that height - that age? Ella. How old was Ella? His heart stutter-stepped - the date. He had lost track, or rather, stopped tracking, the days and the passage of time. It had ceased to matter, he made no plans and had no commitments and it mattered not at all if it was a Sunday or a Thursday, if months had passed or if it was still endless October. It was Ella's birthday - it would be - it had been? He was not sure. He had to clench his jaw against a tide of bitter feeling, that Ella Kennedy would have a birthday this year, but not Bonnie. Never again Bonnie. He wrestled with himself, his whole body gone rigid with anger.

It was not Ella's fault. Poor, hapless, flighty Ella. He had once wanted her to be his own daughter, been consumed with jealousy as Scarlett grew large with another man's child and took risks no husband should have let her take alone. He had fled Atlanta to escape his own helpless rage. When he had returned at last, he had held Ella briefly, until vanquished anger returned and he'd given the baby back to Scarlett on flimsy pretext and longed to take up a pistol against the man who even then might have been sharing her bed again.

Well if it was any comfort, not that he needed comfort, Rhett knew Frank Kennedy had had even less of Scarlett's treacherous heart than Rhett himself.

Thoughts of Scarlett's heart were almost as hazardous as thoughts of Bonnie. His life was built over quicksand now, too many things he wanted to avoid. He flung the half-smoked cigar carelessly in a still, shallow puddle. He would send Ella the most extravagant birthday gifts he could find. Her distracted cat of a mother could hardly be counted on to remember the girl's birthday herself.

...

After a toy store, a bookstore, and, in a weak moment when it had caught his attention in passing from one to the other, a jewelry store, several packages were piled up in his hotel room to be sent back to America and he was in a cramped coach on the way to another ballroom. He had drunk a glass - or had it turned into two? - of whisky while he wrote out the cards to go with everything and the liquor had left him wound up and shaky. He had started restless, jittery almost, and had poured the drinks to steady his hand. Instead it had quite the opposite effect and even now, his hands trembled from time to time, aggravated by the movement of the coach over rough streets.

Rhett took a swig from his flask. He was emptying it too regularly again, but if the liquor would not leave him numb at least it smothered any impulse to care. It had not soothed or armored him enough to face another interminable evening of urbane polish, laid on thick for appearances' sake but hiding all manner of hypocrisy and scandal.

Having applied such a thin veneer of respectability to himself, he unerringly saw through it in everyone around him. His own lack of patience at the duplicity angered him. Why should he care if the whole world was all the same? He had left Atlanta to see the surface charms, to rub shoulders with the old world in all its elegant emptiness, and why should he care what lay behind smooth manners and well-modulated voices? But the falseness of the world grated on him. He had lived a lie for many years, but he never could stand falsehoods in others. There was only room for so many lies and his cup runneth over.

When the coach drew up, Rhett stayed motionless in the corner. The four young men piled out boisterously, and he did not move. When the door swung shut behind them he lifted a corner of the curtain. No one looked back. When they were safely out of sight, mingled in the arriving crowd, he stuck his head out and gave the driver a new direction.

The _Bonheur_ was high class enough to be almost respectable. It was exactly the sort of establishment wealthy society men were supposed to frequent, as long as no one knew about the habit. It was richer and more sophisticated than Belle Watling's; but then it was run by an elegant middle-aged Parisian woman, well-educated in convent schools, and not an illiterate whore from nondescript small town streets.

"Oh, _Monsieur Capitaine_!" the girls said, " _mais_ , you must have another drink. It is the finest wine in France!" They were a blur of pretty faces, indistinct, but warm and open. They were expert business women, who had learned to hide the hardness in their eyes behind pretty smiles and fluttering lashes. They rested smooth palms on his tense shoulders, pressed his head tenderly to their bosom in mock comfort, teased him gently.

He drank red wine with an arm around the waist of a soft brunette whose hair was too light, too curly. The bright parlor was a mélange of high, tinkling laughter and low, deep-voiced chuckles. He observed, with his hand resting lightly on the girl's curvy hip, and let the night move around him. She stroked his hair and kissed his temple and kept his glass from getting too low until finally, he felt relaxation loosening his muscles.

"What a pretty thing you are," he said lightly, nuzzling the girl beneath her ear.

"Oh, monsieur! You tickle," and her laughter sparkled over his skin. He squeezed her waist, downed the rest of his wine, and let himself be led to the rooms upstairs.

…

Halfway to dawn, back in his own rooms, he was finishing the bottle of wine he'd carried back from the brothel. The girl's laughter was too high, her hair too soft, a hundred small things had been wrong but in the end, his undoing had been what was too right. Too distant, her mind elsewhere - well, what should he have expected from a whore? He had been spoiled by Belle, and done poorly by her for it. He had let her soothe him, time and again, wrap him in a love that he did not return because it brought him comfort. A paid whore, a stranger in a foreign city, was just doing her job - but it felt too painfully familiar.

He was disappointed in himself, a feeling that had become all too familiar. How would he find honor in a whorehouse? He had fallen into the same old habits of self-immolation, and the fire had started under his feet. The restlessness that had pushed him across the sea had set his skin to crawling again. Winter was approaching; Paris was becoming dreary and confining. He needed strong sunlight to warm him to the bone. He needed to move again, move on, before his own malaise strangled him. It was time for a new port.


	3. Chapter 3

" _I shall bring you presents so long as it pleases me and so long as I see things that will enhance your charms."_

\- _Gone with the Wind, Chapter XIII_

* * *

 _Atlanta, Georgia, November 1873_

Scarlett closed the ledger on her desk with a muffled clap. She flattened her palms on the beaten surface of the desk and stared down at the pale buff leather cover for a long moment, then her eyes cut across to its twin perched along the edge of the desk. She rubbed her temples and lifted her head. The small room at the back of the store was dimly lit. A gas lamp cast a pale circle around her, but the sky outside the windows had gone dark while she had been working. It was getting late, and she hadn't even touched Ashley's books yet.

What a burden a promise could be. Her long-ago promise to look after Melanie had in some ways been easier to keep than this new oath for the protection of Ashley. Delivering Melanie's baby alone in an empty, besieged town and leading her frightened family past armies to the unkept promise of safety at Tara; they were clear acts of animal courage, solid obstacles she had seen to face and conquer. Trying to keep Ashley afloat and solvent, to provide for Beau as Melanie had wished without rousing Ashley's - or the town's - suspicions, seemed nowhere near as straightforward as the simple matter of survival had been.

Again, Scarlett was carrying the burdens of others even as she was beaten and bent by her own heavy load. Oh, the money in the bank - hers and Rhett's money - was safe, at least for now. She had never fully trusted the banks, and while no bank in Atlanta had failed yet she could not feel entirely secure in their future. She had taken up an old habit of hiding money throughout the house, something she had first done during her marriage to Frank. There were now small bags - of gold, for she couldn't shake a lingering fear that greenbacks would turn out as worthless as Confederate paper had - in her oldest hatboxes, with the hats she never wore anymore, tucked in the toes of old slippers, in the cushion of a settee in the parlor and behind a book in the library and a drawer in the desk. She did not yet have to worry about how to keep her own household running, but she could not silence her fears completely. What if this lasted forever? What if the books bled red until the end of her days? The money she had brought into her third marriage was not that substantial; even Rhett's fortune could dry up. It had happened to them all, during the war. What if the low ebb was just a plateau, the edge of another cliff? And what would be left for her children when she was gone?

She _had_ married Rhett for his money, and he had given her so much more, even if she had been too blind to see it until - well, she had been blind. He had given her security, and although she hadn't realized it was more than just a monetary bulwark, now it was the money keeping them safe. She would not go hungry. _Her children_ would not go hungry.

But the financial panic had settled into a depression. The store was floundering. Every day was long. She had taken stock of the inventory after their return from Tara at the beginning of October, and she tracked it diligently through each day. It was a constant question - _what was selling?_ What had become too luxurious to be bought, what could she stock instead? She had cut her losses several times now, writing off items whose sales had plummeted, slashing prices to clear space for new products that might sell. More basic calico, food staples, necessities instead of luxuries.

The plummeting profits had at last leveled off. The store was a still, gloomy place for long stretches of the day, the customers scarce, but as the stock had been adjusted the customers were returning, slowly and spending less than before, but enough to pay her employees and grow a small margin. She diligently pored over the books every day, balancing and double checking the long columns of figures after the store had closed and everyone else gone home.

The mills were something else entirely. After an already long day, in the evenings she would pull the books from the mills into the warm circle of light on her desk. The post-war boom had ceased; no one in Atlanta was building. So no one in Atlanta was buying. And Ashley, foolish Ashley, had dropped the convict leases and hired free darkies and now there were salaries to be paid even when no lumber sold. There were idle hands and stopped saws and money draining away every day.

Scarlett swapped the books around, bringing the mill ledger into the light. She had finished her review the day before; but perhaps there was something she had missed, some place to squeeze a profit. She had offered to check them as a courtesy. Ashley knew, and accepted, that she was good at figures, though she had to be careful with any suggestions she might try to make. Her promise to Melanie - Ashley mustn't know she was _protecting_ him. Just helping him a little, here and there. But the long days were catching up to her now, dulling the sharp edges of her mind. Each week was the same, the money wasn't hiding - it didn't exist. And what would Ashley do? He wouldn't - he _couldn't_! - join her household again, as at Tara. The gossip mills already had too much grist, and what would Rhett say? _When he came back_ , she thought fiercely. _He said he would come home, and he will. He must. Some day. And I can't have Ashley hanging at my skirts then!_ No, Ashley could no longer live on her charity so intimately. She must keep her promise to Melanie in a more distant way.

Scarlett gathered the heavy ledger to her chest. She would have to go out to the mills now, before Ashley left, to return the book. She should have gone yesterday, but she had no eagerness for these trips. And how much they used to mean to her! How she had once longed to see Ashley, to talk to him, to be alone with him. And now it took an effort of will to care for him at all, and often only the memory of Melly and her promise bound her.

She set the ledger down to gather her reticule and a small parcel, and carried the awkward load with difficulty out to the buggy. She stowed her items, returned to lock the store, and climbed up into the high seat. Fall was turning cold but she could manage the buggy herself and keep control of her own schedule. The drive out Peachtree road was safer now than it had been, and she would not give up her independence.

Scarlett pulled the thick lap blanket up high and snapped the reins. Everything was upside down. The possibility of spending time with Ashley used to lighten her spirit, make her glow with happiness. Now he just weighed her down. Without the obscuring light of her obsessive love she could see him too clearly. Ashley was a gentleman, and what good was that now? She had called him helpless, and to her continued surprise Rhett had defended him, but she thought they were both right. Ashley was trying his best to make his way in this new world, but he was still helpless. He belonged to country twilights, not this brutal dawn. From war to Reconstruction to recession, life took more steel and fewer scruples than he could manage.

How she hated Ashley now! She hated his helplessness. Hated his weakness and his ineffability that kept her strung on all those years until now everything was ruined. He wasn't firm or decisive in anything; _not like Rhett_ her treacherous thoughts whispered. Yet she still loved him; yes, in a soft, tender, nostalgic way. He remembered her girlhood in those warm, carefree days, and he looked more gently on her than anyone else would now. And those embittered grey eyes glowed briefly to see her when she pulled into the lumber yard, with a short-lived happiness that faded back into the morass of his grief.

She let Ashley help her down from the buggy, then pressed the small, brown-wrapped parcel into his arms.

"For Beau," she said. Tied in the brown paper was a new jacket and sturdy pair of boots she had culled from the store's inventory.

"Thank you, Scarlett, but no, I can't accept this—"

"Oh hush, Ashley. It's just a few things that aren't selling well at the store. I'd have to cut the price and take a loss any way. Just take them." The lie came easily, and thankfully Ashley had never been able to read her at all, not like Rhett. Why was it only now, when it might be too late, that she could see both Rhett and Ashley for who they really were?

Ashley cleared his throat. "Thank you."

With a sigh, Scarlett heaved the ledger from the bottom of the buggy. "Ashley...you can't keep supporting such a large crew. It's been weeks. There's no profit left to draw from."

Ashley led the way into the small square office, his greying head low. Scarlett followed, and dropped the ledger on the empty desk.

"Every man here depends on me. They need their paychecks as much as - even more - than I do. I can't turn them out."

"God's nightgown, Ashley!" Her frustration rose quickly. Anger and irritation were always so close to the surface now, more than ever before. It spilled over like too much liquid in a glass, a messy upheaval that passed quickly but recurred frequently. "They're not family - your family. You have to think of Beau, before some free issue trash -"

"Stop it, Scarlett. Beau is fine." He cast a rueful glance at the small parcel under his arm. "You've made sure of that. And so I'm living under your charity again."

"Not charity." She moved to his side and set her hand softly on his arm. "Beau is my nephew, my family. You are family, Ashley." She tossed her head and moved away, no longer desperate for his touch, to extend every moment in indefinite pleasure. His nearness left her cold. "And I told you, I just brought a few old things that won't sell at the store. If anything, you're helping me free up space for better inventory."

Ashley looked at her with a level gaze. "You have a head for the business of these days that I do not."

"If you just—"

"No, Scarlett. It's no use. I'm not made for this work, and we both know it."

Scarlett clenched her teeth to bite back any further entreaties. Yes, she knew it. She was angry Rhett had ever convinced her to sell the mills to Ashley - provoked her into doing so, too hastily. He must have had something to do with it, for as she had looked back down the years of their marriage under the harsh light of his revelations the night he had left, so many things had been painfully illuminated. He had pulled strings somewhere to part her from the mills, and from Ashley. And they weren't ever about Ashley! They were the symbol of her own accomplishments, and under Ashley they would be driven into the ground, all her hard work erased.

They would be just another casualty in this long, hard year of loss.

She swallowed hard and dropped the subject. "You and Beau will still come for supper on Sunday?" Scarlett asked with almost a plaintive note.

"We always look forward to it."

Their parting smiles were stiff as Scarlett climbed back up in her buggy. Ashley did not rebuke her for driving out alone; perhaps after more than a month he had conceded on at least that point. It was simply none of his concern and she would not let it be.

It was very late, too late, when she finally drove up to her own house that night. The children were already in bed. She stole quietly into their rooms to kiss their smooth foreheads. It was a touch Wade would no longer welcome when awake. He fairly bristled with anger these days, all timidity gone, unafraid to prick and push and goad his mother. If she snapped - when, an inevitability - he simply stared at her with accusing brown eyes, and when her anger ran out so did he. Outside of school, he spent most of his time with Beau Wilkes in the little house on Ivy Street. Ella trailed the boys like a lost puppy. They were all at loose ends without Melanie.

In her own room, she rang for her maid Hattie to help her undress and unlace before dismissing her for the night. Since Mammy's departure for Tara, Prissy had taken full responsibility for Wade and Ella. Scarlett had hired a new maid and though she still relied on Prissy if it was more convenient, she greatly preferred the soothing, unflappable calm of the new girl. Scarlett sat at her vanity and methodically brushed her hair, an old habit that was now a good, solid delaying tactic as well. She didn't count the strokes but brushed until her arms grew tired. Then, finally, she crawled between the cool sheets.

Scarlett fell asleep quickly, but she would not be exhausted enough to escape the nightmares until later in the week. Her nights had a horrible rhythm now. She was always tired, and so fell asleep easily. But she was also hurt, stressed, and anxious, and her mind was fertile ground for nightmares. They disturbed her sleep so much, that between the late nights, early mornings, and lack of rest in between, by the end of the week her brain would be blissfully numb. Then she would sleep deeply, until the cycle began again.

They were the same dreams, the horror of the mist and the terror of being lost and uncertain, their strength not at all lessened by the familiarity of years. Only now, with a cruel twist, she knew where security could be found, knew what - who - she was searching for, and could not have him. When she woke herself up, her throat thick with unvoiced screams, she could have sworn she could hear the echo of his name through the large lonely house.

Somehow, flighty Ella had become a comfort to her. She seemed to be sleeping no better than Scarlett, and in the middle of the night Scarlett would often wake to small, soft hands on her cheeks and Ella's pale face above her in the darkness.

"Shh, Mother, it's just dreams. Right? Just dreams." Scarlett wasn't sure if her daughter was reassuring her or seeking comfort for herself, but Ella seemed content to rest with her, without asking for more. If she, Scarlett, wasn't ready to face sleep again, she would talk to Ella for a bit. Ella was more attentive at night, when she was still half asleep and drowsy. She didn't interrupt her mother, and she never asked for more than what Scarlett willingly and freely gave. Scarlett would pull her daughter close and let the girl spend the rest of the night in the big bed. And that large bed that had been empty for years, that somehow seemed colder and even larger and emptier with Rhett gone completely, warmed when her daughter was there. Was this how Rhett had felt? Was this the comfort Bonnie gave him, when she, Scarlett, wife, had turned him out? Trying to understand another person's thoughts and feelings was a foreign exercise to Scarlett, and one she still did not spend much time on - except to turn over and over in her mind Rhett's words and actions the night of Melly's death, and indeed over the long years of their acquaintance. It was an increasingly futile effort, yet one she could not resist.

To Ella, it was as if she had two mothers. Mother was withdrawn and snappish during the day but when Ella woke in the night and snuck into her room, Mother would be quiet and kind, she would be free with her kisses and cuddle her close. Sometimes she might sing or tell her stories about Tara and then Ella would feel wonderful, she would feel safe as she went to sleep, even if Mother snapped at her again at breakfast when she knocked the plate of waffles on the floor or splattered her cereal or spilled her milk. Mother who held her while she slept and kept her safe would never leave, even if she might get cross. Mother had always been there and would always be, and she knew this because when she woke afraid, dreaming of the other adults who had left her, she could run to Mother and sleep the rest of the night in security.

Ella did spill her glass of milk in the morning, and Scarlett snapped, "Sit still, Ella! If you didn't fidget so much you wouldn't knock so many things over."

"Yes, Mother," Ella mumbled, and pressed her napkin over the spreading puddle.

"Did you finish your schoolwork, Wade?" Scarlett asked, turning her attention to her son.

Wade just shrugged and Scarlett felt the rise of her temper. She was trying, trying to reach her children, to be their mother. She knew she had never been a very good mother, nothing at all like Ellen or even the boisterous Mrs. Tarleton, nothing like Melanie or any other mother of her acquaintance. Still, she thought, bristling, she was not so awful as Rhett had made her out to be. Didn't she love her children? Hadn't she worked hard all their lives to provide for them? Didn't it pain her now that Wade was so sullen, withdrawn, and angry by turns? If only she had had more time, but now again the pressures of the world were more demanding than the emotional needs of her children. What good would coddling be if she had nothing to feed them, no place to shelter them? And now she had to be both mother and father, for who knew where Rhett had gone, and if he would keep his word.

 _He said he would come home, and he will. He must._ Tomorrow had lost much of its charm, but she had to cling to that promise and hope. What else was left to her? Someday, oh, some day - Rhett would come home! And she could show him, then, how she'd changed, how much she loved him. Rhett would know what to do with Wade, he had always been so good with the boy. Rhett would listen to her troubles, share the load and in doing so lighten the burden on her own shoulders. Yes, Rhett would come home. Someday.

"I asked you a question, Wade Hampton," Scarlett continued, her voice now edged with annoyance.

"Sorry, mother?" he questioned insolently.

"Did you finish your schoolwork?" she repeated, feeling she was letting him get the upper hand on her with this attitude but unsure how to stop it.

Wade shrugged. "I didn't have any."

The stubborn, square edge of Scarlett's jaw clenched. "Is that true, Wade?"

Her son's face was defiant, his chin lifted.

"I didn't have any. May I be excused. I don't want to be late."

"You can't leave yet, Wade, your sister isn't ready."

"I'll wait for her outside."

"I'm done, Mother!" Ella's high voice spoke up with a quaver. If they didn't get out of the house now, Mother would start yelling. So far this morning she had only been annoyed, short of temper but controlled. That made it a good morning, for Ella, or as good as mornings got now. She missed having Uncle Rhett at the table to make her laugh with funny faces. He had always been able to stop Mother's steams, somehow, a trick Ella couldn't figure out. Everyone in their big, empty house was mad all the time, except during her secret moments with Mother in the middle of the night. In the morning and all day long, it was best just to stay out of the way.

Scarlett looked at the children and sighed. They irritated her. Though she wanted to be a better mother, her failures in this area only compounded her irritation. She didn't know how to talk and play as Melanie had done, as even Rhett had done.

"Yes," she said softly. "You may go. "

Ella passed dutifully by her chair for a goodbye kiss, but Wade's cold eyes stared ahead as he left the dining room and did not look back.

Scarlett's appetite left with the children. She tried another bite of the now dry biscuit, mindful of the dress seams that had been taken in in the last week. At one time she would have been thrilled that her waist was at last approaching its former celebrated slenderness. If only it wasn't at the expense of her cheeks and bosom, as well.

 _I suppose I should have kicked Rhett out of the house entirely after Bonnie, not just my bed. His leaving is doing wonders for my waist now,_ she thought bitterly, and stood up from the table.

The store was quiet that morning, as it had been for more than a month. The bell rang a few times as customers went in and out, but the foot traffic was sparse. Scarlett knelt near the back, carefully boxing up fine china, in too petty a mood to trust the delicate task to Hugh or any of the clerks. She would figure out something else to do with the plates. She could give them to Suellen for Christmas. They weren't going to sell any time soon, and there were crates of new, cheaper stock that would hopefully appeal more to Atlanta's slim wallets to be unloaded that afternoon. She slipped the last pretty flowered plate away and sat back on her heels. When she wiped her forehead, her hand left a smear of dust.

"Hurry, Maybelle," she heard a voice snap somewhere above her. "I don't want to be in this store a minute more than we need to be."

"I haven't been in here in years, Mother," she heard Maybelle Merriwether Picard answer. "Scarlett has done a good job with it, hasn't she?"

"Scarlett has done a good many things she oughtn't, and that includes this store. She has meddled in here more than any lady should, not that you can ever expect Scarlett to behave as a lady should."

Still kneeling, Scarlett's shoulders stiffened with indignation. The spiteful old cats! Since Melanie's death she had, intermittently, gone calling on some of the old families. She had suffered through sewing circles and luncheons, knowing the women were just waiting for her to leave so they could gossip behind her back. Fond memories of Melanie were a safe topic, and even in her anger it felt good at last to have people with which to remember the old days. She thought too of Rhett's tireless campaign for Bonnie's sake, and wondered what would become of Wade and Ella now. She hadn't dared push the parlor reminisces beyond her sister-in-law's memory. Their roots went deep, but the footing for her there was still uncertain. There were too many things she had done, and for which she knew they blamed her. Both she and Fanny had lost husbands, but they probably still held it to be Scarlett's fault. Only Rhett and Melanie had absolved her. If she talked of the hard days after the surrender, they would remember how she had welcomed Yankees into her parlor and appeared to take the side of the conquerors.

Her old friends did not welcome her, or return her calls, but they had not cut her openly. Melanie's efforts had given Scarlett a fragile toe into their parlors years ago, a position that it seemed would endure as long as she didn't show too often or stay too long. She had been surprised, since Melly's death and her return to Atlanta, that they honored the unspoken agreement; surprised, and more than a little suspicious, that they welcomed her into their parlors so they would have more to gossip about once she left. Now here came Mrs. Merriwether to prove her right.

"Do you think she really drove Captain Butler away, finally?" Maybelle's voice was now just above a whisper, but they were only in the next row and Scarlett had little trouble hearing her. "He's always come and gone as he pleased - but to miss the funeral - and Melanie always defended him so!"

"I'm sure even a hotel room would be warmer to him than that gaudy house she had him build. After everything he lost this year, what kind of comfort would he find there?"

"Scarlett always was so cold. You remember how she danced at the bazaar, and Charlie Hamilton hardly dead a year? I should have led that reel," Maybelle sniffed. "She hardly mourned Charles, or Frank. I'm surprised she's still wearing black. If she hardly mourns a husband, what could a child mean to her?"

Scarlett's fists clenched and her knuckles were starkly white against her plain black skirts.

"Melanie always took her side. I suppose she could finally be paying her some respect," Maybelle breezed on. "I wonder if Captain Butler _is_ gone, oh well you remember, those rumors about her and Ashley Wilkes? I wonder..."

"She always was a fast piece, not to be trusted. There's the flour, Maybelle. Oh, we'll need a boy to carry it out - we need just about every sack on this shelf. I just can't believe that foolish man tipped the cart over in the mud."

Scarlett shot to her feet and looked at her opponents over the top of the low shelves.

"You won't be needing anyone to help you, Mrs. Merriwether. That flour is not for sale. Not to you," she snapped. Ungrateful women! Flour would sell. She didn't need their custom. Her eyes were a light, vivid green that sparkled angrily in the morning sun that reached all the way to the far rows they were standing in. Dust motes danced in the air between the women, disturbed by her packing and the brush of her skirts as she rose.

Mrs. Merriwether and her daughter gaped at Scarlett.

"Why, I never -" Mrs. Merriwether stammered, predictably.

"And I," spat Scarlett, "have never been so insulted on my own property. I can't do anything about how you snipe and - and make things up when you are in your own homes, but you are in my store, now. And if you find me to be so offensive, you can just take your business elsewhere!"

They had been caught wrong-footed, and could say nothing in their own defense. "Let's go, Maybelle. Mrs. Butler is too good for our poor business." She said Scarlett's married name with a tone of utter contempt, spitting her words right back at Scarlett.

With a swirl of skirts that disturbed even more dust, they were gone. Without the heat of anger left to sustain her, Scarlett felt hollow and unsteady. She coughed in the suddenly thick air. Snapping at the counter boy to collect the box of china and take it into the back room, she grabbed the broom from the corner and began sweeping furiously, dislodging more dust. It seemed that more of it clogged up the air than collected into a neat pile on the floor, and though she coughed painfully, she did not stop.

Her temper was still close to the surface when she sat down with Wade and Ella for supper that night. Alone in the house, taking their meals together had become a habit, although it had not done anything to bring them closer as she had first hoped.

"Don't slouch, Wade. Ella! Sit still! You are going to knock that glass over again."

Wade's eyes were dark as he squared his shoulders.

"No one else is here. Why does it matter?"

"It matters because I want to know you won't be out in public displaying such a lack of manners."

"We're never out in public, Mother. We eat here alone, and no one comes over, and we can't go anywhere!"

"That's a lie, Wade. You are over at the Wilkeses' every day of the week, and Ashley and Beau will be here for supper on Sunday."

"No one else -"

"Just eat your supper, Wade! Ella _sit still_ , stop banging your heels on the chair. I can't hear my own thoughts over that racket."

Ella sniffled, but the drumming of her heels stopped. And then a rhythmic clatter started up. She looked over to see Wade, his shoulders proud and his eyes blazing, tapping his knife against his plate. Where _had_ her shy little boy gone? Two years ago, one year ago, he had been so timid, afraid of his own shadow. Certainly, she remembered painfully, he had seemed afraid of her. He had been given to moping, not angry disobedience and these little tricks to push her temper. Was it Melly's death? Rhett's absence? But Rhett had left before, he had come and gone all through Wade's life. And now, with so much else to weigh her down and worry her, her spiritless little boy was becoming less like his malleable father, and more like herself. Willful and temperamental. Gerald's jaw, which Bonnie had so often displayed, showed in the hard set of Wade's face for the first time in his life.

She needed to be patient. She needed to be kind, and caring, and more like Melanie. But that heavy, rhythmic tapping rang inside her brain, stoking the headache that had followed her home from the store.

"Wade! Stop that. Supper is over. Go upstairs now. Both of you! Prissy will get you ready for bed."

Wade stood by the table and took Ella's hand. "You don't want to be here with us either! I wish you would go and Uncle Rhett would come back and stay with us instead. Why can't you make him come home?"

"Go upstairs!" Scarlett nearly screamed, unable to make a calm and fair answer. Both their small faces went white, and they turned and scrambled out of the dining room.

Scarlett dropped her head on her arms, but she did not cry. This happened too often now, almost daily. Screaming at her children, unable to answer their questions about Rhett, unmoored by and helpless against their desire for his presence.

When she rose to go upstairs herself, the cut glass stopper of the brandy decanter gleamed, the gaslight flames gilding its hard edges. She cradled it in her arms as she climbed the stairs.

She had learned the value of brandy so many years ago, during her marriage to Frank Kennedy. Then, she had been heartsick at being uprooted from Tara, having sacrificed her home to save it. Brandy had soothed the ache of longing to see home again. And now - now Rhett meant home, even more than Tara, and the mellow feeling of being flush with drink took more effort to achieve.

…

The next day, she did not eat breakfast with the children. She was cotton-headed from the brandy. The morning sun pierced her skull and showed the now nearly half-empty bottle, which she hid behind a curtain while the maid came in to dress her. She took black coffee in her room, and waited until the front door shut behind her children and the house went quiet to slip back downstairs and replace the decanter. The diminishing level in the bottle meant no one was fooled by this trick, but as long as the servants only saw the decanter on the sideboard she felt comfortable that appearances were maintained.

Shunning the daylight as well as remembering the uncomfortable confrontation from the day before, she shut herself in the office at the back of the store and tried to go through the books from her other interests, in the saloon, the active mortgages. But her mind would not clear, and her drunken sleep had not been restful.

She sat up with a jerk as someone coughed. Hugh Elsing was in the office doorway, and no trace of daylight shone behind him or came in through the high window behind her. She blinked sandy eyes and, putting a hand up to check her hair, felt creases from the ledger paper that had been crushed under her cheek as she had, apparently, slept the day away.

"We're closed up now, Scarlett. The boys just left. I was leaving, too, but I saw your buggy is still outside. We haven't seen you all day."

"Oh - Hugh - why I must have fallen asleep in here. I just can't imagine...well, did everything go all right today?"

"We had a fair bit of business. Seems things might be picking up."

"Yes, well, we'll see. Thank you, Hugh. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"No ma'am, tomorrow's Sunday."

"Oh. Oh, right. Of course. Good night, Hugh."

"Good night."

After Hugh left, Scarlett closed the unexamined ledger and locked up. When she arrived home, the lights in the front parlor made the windows glow diffusely in the misty air. That was odd. The children generally stayed up in the nursery when they were home. She couldn't have visitors - no one would deign to call on her; certainly no one who would go so far as to wait for her return. Their only visitors these days were the Wilkeses - had Ashley stopped by? Has something happened at the mills? She touched her cheek, the marks in her dehydrated skin from sleeping rough still faintly there. It was bad enough that Hugh had caught her sleeping and seen her so disheveled - not that she wanted to care how she looked to Ashley - it shouldn't matter, after all, it wasn't like Rhett—

Rhett! Had Rhett come home at last? If it were Rhett, she _did_ care, not to be seen with her hair coming loose and her face mussed from sleep. Her heart started racing, and the reins slipped from her slick palms as she handed them over to the stable boy.

 _Please, let it be Rhett. Oh, please_ , she prayed fervently, indiscriminately. She hardly felt qualified to bend God's ear anymore.

Her throat was already dry, her stomach still unsettled from the drinking, but as she mounted the steps to the veranda she could hardly swallow and her empty belly somersaulted under her corset. She pressed both hands to her middle, flushed, hot, and terribly nervous, before pushing open the heavy front door.

The house was still and quiet. Disappointment toyed with her - if Rhett were home, surely there would be noise, cheers from Wade, laughter from Ella - but he still could be there. He might be in the parlor, waiting for her. Maybe he had sent the children away, upstairs, to Aunt Pitty's, somewhere so he could be alone with her. She trembled. _He said he would come home - please Rhett, please be home._

She forced herself to keep her eyes from closing as she pushed open the parlor door. No scent of cigar smoke wafted out, and disappointment came back, squeezing her throat. She became aware of quiet murmuring.

"What do you suppose it is?"

"Do you think it's for us?"

"Will Mother let us open it?"

Tears temporarily blinded her, refracting the bright light and blurring her vision. She blinked them away to see Wade and Ella circling like predators around a large crate in the center of the room. And though disappointment crushed her, her heart fought against it, lifting slightly. Rhett had not come home, but surely this enormous crate could only have come from him.

Pork, having been alerted to her return, came with a crowbar to pry the crate open. Straw clung to his jacket sleeves as he lifted out several large boxes, and one palm-sized package that had been carefully carefully nestled on top so as not to get lost in the voluminous packaging. Tags identified most of the boxes as being for Ella, who squealed delightedly to see her name written so often in a clear hand poignantly familiar to Scarlett. One large box was for Wade. And the tiny, flat black box had her name on a tag almost as large as the whole package.

There were notes for Wade and Ella. Wade read his in silence and spurned Scarlett's offer to read it for him; an admittedly selfish offer as she was desperate to read Rhett's words, to see the strong writing. She settled for reading Ella her note.

 _Dear Ella,_

 _I am sorry to have missed your birthday. I hope some of these gifts I am sending you will make you happy. I imagine you must be a very big girl now and nearly a young lady. I am sure you are being very sweet and staying out of trouble and doing all your schoolwork, as of course a young lady should._

 _Today I went to a museum, where there were lots of very old paintings. Some of them even had little girls, though you must be prettier than any of them. They made me think of you, and miss you very much. I will see you soon._

 _All my love,_

 _Rhett_

It revealed absolutely nothing about where he was, she thought with despair. A museum! He could be anywhere in the world. And "I will see you soon" - but what was soon? For that matter, what did he consider "often enough to keep the gossip down"? She smiled with trembling lips at Ella, trying to appear bright and unconcerned.

"Birthday presents! Ella, how wonderful!" Ella slid off the slick sofa and scrambled over to her presents. Scarlett watched Wade carefully fold his own note and stuff it down a pocket. She bit her lip against the urge to ask him again to share it.

The box for Wade was full of books, titles she didn't recognize, but she assumed could come from anywhere in the world. There was _Tales of Peter Parley about Europe_ , but also _American Geography_ and _Tales of Animals_. Was _Around the World in Eighty Days_ a clue? Or was that belied by the presence also of _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_? She could go mad trying to solve his presents like a riddle.

Ella's gifts did not reveal anything, either. She received a beautiful fur hat and muff, but the box had no label. Nor did the boxes with the real, miniature china tea set ( _Oh heavens_ , Scarlett couldn't help thinking, _she'll break half those cups in a day_ ), the dark-haired bisque doll, or the seemingly bottomless box of doll dresses.

So pleased and excited by their own presents, the children did not ask about the small box in her own hand. Prissy was called, and with Pork helped carry most of the gifts up to the nursery. A few books and dresses were left behind. When the children's' bright laughter and high voices grew muffled by walls and distance, Scarlett opened her hand to look at her own gift. There was no note to accompany it, no words other than her name written on the tag.

The simple black box held only a small bar brooch, with diamonds on each end and then strips of emerald framing a bow of diamonds, all centered on a single emerald. It was beautiful. It was her color, green. But looking at it through a prism of tears, she could find no hidden sentiment, no secrets to give her hope. It was just a piece of jewelry.

* * *

 _Notes: I didn't remember that Maybelle and Mrs. Merriwether show up in_ _Scarlett_ _being poor customers in the store. I picked that book up to look at something else and found that scene. So this is an entirely unintentional similarity but I decided not to change it because when I think about who is likely to come through the doors of that store and be mean and catty, Mrs. Merriwether is the first person who comes to mind._

 _Scarlett once dreamed of being able to afford a governess for Wade, but MM doesn't touch on their schooling and a governess is never mentioned in the Butler household. We don't get much information about the children's lives but I am taking some leeway to imagine they may have ended up in a private school setting. Certainly Wade could have; it's a bit more of a liberty to think the same for Ella, and she's still very young here. There were women who opened small schools in their homes after the war. Such a situation seems like a decent possibility, and better suits my own purposes._


	4. Chapter 4

_And entering with relief some quiet place  
_ _Where never fell his foot or shone his face  
_ _I say, "There is no memory of him here!"  
_ _And so stand stricken, so remembering him._

 _\- Time does not bring relief (Sonnet II), Edna St. Vincent Millay_

* * *

 _Sorrento, Italy, December 1873_

The early December mornings were chilly in Sorrento. Rhett had crossed France over land, then sailed along the coast until landing in the seaside city. It felt disarmingly like Charleston, with the crisp air blowing in from the sea. The daily rhythm of the tide, the slow progress of its rise and fall, the familiar songs of seabirds, and the salt-scented air were soothing echoes of an old, familiar life. On the balcony of his room at the Imperial Hotel Tramontano, Rhett could look across the bay to hazy Naples, up at pale stone buildings terracing up steep hills, and reassure himself he was still on the other side of the world.

Where Paris had glittered under artificial lights, Naples shone in pale brumal sun. Even under the grey wintry sky, the white-washed buildings reflected brilliance. Clinging to the cliffs, the city looked like children's blocks tumbled helter skelter down rocky stairs. Here, Rhett had found the relaxed and graceful rhythm in daily life that recalled old times to him, in languid strolls on the edge of the city, coffee and cigars on open terraces, formal white linen dinners. He stayed sober, despite an ever-increasing bored malaise

He tried to remember that was what he had wanted, the utter boredom of respectability, but he found he didn't much care either way. The sounds and smell of the sea were enough. The days had a rhythm like the tide, until they blended together into a week - two weeks - more? The weak sunlight brought a touch of bronze back to his skin and walking trimmed some of the bloat from his body. He could float through the rest of his life here, drying out by the sea, like driftwood on the beach.

Then the Christmas tree went up in the hotel lobby.

Rhett was walking out on a Monday morning when he saw white-jacketed boys clipping candles on an enormous evergreen. His stomach sank as the weight of responsibility, ignored for months except for the small and easily discharged duty of sending presents for Ella's birthday, came rushing back. _I'll come back often enough to keep gossip down._ What a foolish thing _that_ had been to say! And a meaningless promise, if he stayed away through Christmas. The gossip would flay her alive. But he had no desire to return to that scene of so many crimes. He had no desire to test the limits of Scarlett's understanding and restraint. Christmas in Atlanta - Christmas without Bonnie - not even Scarlett could expect him to put up with that! Scarlett had all the understanding of a child, but even so, there was Wade and Ella to think of, perhaps another shipment of gifts. That he could do, ignoring the unwelcome thought that buying Scarlett's affection had never worked, and why should her children be any different?

Outside, the ocean seemed louder, intrusive. The current of the tide dragged at his senses, an almost physical sensation, tugging at him - pulling him in unwanted directions.

That night he was exhausted, having visited what felt like every shop in Sorrento. Another large crate for Atlanta was packed full of gifts, intended to be a cold surrogate for his own presence. He sat up late, jacketless, sprawled in a low chair with his shirt undone, his cravat draped across his knee. He watched the fire in his room slowly dying as he rediscovered the bottom of a whisky bottle, the last of the bottles he had brought with him from home. The orange firelight and amber liquid mingled, glinting and sparking anew when he swirled the glass in his left hand.

In his right hand, a string of diamonds gradually faded into shadow as the firelight grew weaker. A packet of hair pins, a fan, a bonnet. He could have bought her anything, meaningless, decorative, as shallow as she was. A trinket, like the brooch; a trifle, like her inconstant heart. Rhett turned his wrist, letting the heavy diamonds slide until the emerald and diamond heart-shaped pendant that hung from the strand faced up, lying on the back of his hand.

He finished the glass and didn't bother to refill it, but went straight to the bottle.

"Damn you," he said aloud, not sure if he spoke to her or to himself.

Whisky burned in his throat. She rode the current, bringing memories hot in his blood. He clenched his jaw rhythmically as the drink eroded his calm, destroyed his numb detachment. She could pull him like the tide, even from halfway across the world. He had seen this necklace in the jewelry shop, and seen not the velvet stand beneath it but her ivory skin, the diamonds dropping off her collarbone, the heart resting below the erotic hollow at the base of her throat. He would kiss her there and feel the cool stones against his chin, pricking at him with a hundred tiny sharp edges. His hands had shook as he closed the purchase and they had not stopped until he forced the stopper from the bottle of Old Crow and stilled his nerves with the first harsh sip. The drink had drowned her out, for a time, but it was betraying him now that he was too drunk to think clearly. Dead emotion buffeted him and surprised him as it roared into life, burning away supposed pity, belying kindness. He could only sit before the fire, waiting for the flames to die again; just let the deluge happen and hope he came through with at least the remnants of the ice that had shielded him these last months. This must be an anomaly, the last gasp of things he had once felt, and it would die again. He had only to weather the storm.

His palms itched for want of her. His heart _cracked_. It felt like a tearing sensation in his chest, ice breaking off a glacier, granite shearing, too much force to be borne. The blank facade of his face betrayed him and his eyes leapt with a light independent of the firelight. He swallowed burning sips of whisky somehow, around the knot cutting off his throat. He rolled his wrist again and the necklace slid, the heavy pendant sliding down, dropping off his hand, and the larger cut diamond that cleverly hid the clasp winked up at him in the changing light. He saw it against her skin, with a vivid vision like the one in the store that had foolishly moved him to the purchase. The stone would sit just below the pale brown freckle on the back of her neck. He remembered that tiny imperfection as a signpost, marking one of the most sensitive spots on her body. Sense memories flooded him. He could feel the pressure of a ridiculously enormous bustle pressing against his thighs and hear it rustle as she shivered when he clasped a necklace for her, his fingertips brushing that spot. Her shoulders would twitch as the chain settled with a tickle. And then he would bend low and tease her with the brush of his mustache before kissing that freckle, open-mouthed, marking her with a damp circle, then blow his breath across it and hear her breath stutter. With one hand pressed against her abdomen he would feel the corset shift as her stomach clenched and twitched. He tightened his fist against the itching sensation in his fingers and palm, but the scratching of the stones did not provide relief.

It was such an old memory, or an old dream. He hadn't touched her gently in more than four long years. He felt it as vividly as if he had pressed her beneath him that very night. The ache of arousal in his belly, burning in his groin, his pants pulled tightly across his cock. Scarlett, he thought, and found his pulse keeping time with the rhythm of her name. His heart beat it out - Scarlett. Scarlett.

He tipped the whisky bottle for a drink and came up empty. He let it drop from his hand. The thick rug cushioned the fall and it did not splinter. It did not shatter. Would that he could say the same for himself, he thought mawkishly. Rhett stayed awake until the fire died, while memories and fantasies mingled and his heart kept beating with her name.

The pink tinge of dawn had already started to show on the horizon when Rhett finally rose on unsteady feet. He dropped the necklace in his open trunk and stumbled to the bed. He fell across it, facedown, even the softness of the feather bed an uncomfortable pressure against his arousal. He ignored the edge of pain until it didn't matter anymore, and heavy drunken sleep stopped all unwanted thoughts.

When he woke the next day the sun was already dying in the sky. His head throbbed even at that weak light, and his throat burned with dryness. He stood on his balcony and watched the tide change. He would face her. Face her, so he could burn her out, once and for all. He studied the sailing notices in the newspapers. There wasn't much time.

 _Atlanta, Georgia, December 1873_

Scarlett flattened the scrap of paper beneath her palms. Oversized letters formed poorly spelled words above Ella's childish signature across the entire bottom of the page. It was a very abbreviated Christmas list. Ella needed two more "teecups"; the fine china had fared better under her hands than Scarlett had anticipated. A green hair ribbon. And Uncle "Rett".

"Damn him, damn Christmas, damn it all," Scarlett hissed. And that agonizing question - _what was often enough?_ Would Rhett come home for Christmas? Her stomach burned with acid uncertainty. "He said he would come home, and he will. He must. Someday," she whispered out loud, but the weeks now into months of silence were weakening the power of those words to reassure her.

The murmur of voices in the hall drew her out of the office. Ashley and Beau had arrived for Sunday supper. An uncomfortable new weekly ritual for the adults, whose tension did not perceptibly dent the enthusiasm of the three children. Leaving the heartfelt, impossible little list on her desk, Scarlett went into the hall to greet her guests.

"Ashley," she murmured, turning her cheek for his dry kiss. The nearly impersonal propriety suited her just fine. Scarlett didn't have the words to describe this pathetic turn of events that left her cold to the man she had once ardently pursued, even when they had both been married to others, now that she could have him easily and wanted only the man whose love she had blindly and unknowingly spurned. She had only a bitter, ashen taste on her tongue.

Exuberant, open Beau wrapped his arms eagerly around her waist and she hugged him in return, and pressed a kiss to his golden curls. His serious eyes and the sweetness in his small face painfully recalled Melanie to her. Did a day, did even an hour go by, that she did not miss her dearest friend, and regret all the things she hadn't realized until too late? It was impossible, even for the present-minded Scarlett, not to wonder if Melanie were still alive, if and how life might be different now.

Wade and Ella joined them at the table intimately arranged for five. The kitchen girl had set a place at the head of the table for Ashley once and never again. Scarlett's response had raged out of all proportion. She had broken the plate against the wall in blind fury. Rhett's place had been left empty since. Ashley would never sit there, and even the idea left her nauseous with fear. If Rhett ever saw him in that place of honor - but he would not. It would never happen.

Scarlett, too, had sat in her old accustomed place at the foot of the table, just once. The emptiness across from her had been too much to bear, destroying what little appetite she was able to muster of late. They now made a small and cozy group every Sunday, centered in the middle of the large table. Scarlett, with Ella next to her, faced Ashley, Beau, and Wade, who was seated next to his cousin by request. It seemed that Wade would much rather live with the Wilkeses, even without Melly, than stay another day with his own mother. Ella's fidgety habits pricked Scarlett's annoyance in a way that other meals, when Ella was safely ensconced across the table, did not. She was tired of repeating, "sit still; don't fidget; stop that, Ella," an endless litany, each admonishment effective for a handful of minutes until the skinny little form twitched and the cycle began again.

After the food was served and everyone's plates were piled high, Scarlett predictably asked after the business at the mill that day.

"We made the first delivery on the Venable order today. It's a strong sale to have on the books for Christmas."

Out of the corner of her eye, Scarlett saw Ella's head come up at the mention of the holiday. She shot her daughter a frown intended to stifle any of the child's untimely interjections.

"Has Bullard's signed a contract for the lumber for their expansion yet?"

"No, not yet. I don't blame them if they've changed their minds, it's a poor time to be opening a new store."

Scarlett couldn't imagine expanding her own operations with the current strength of business, or more the complete lack thereof, but the mills needed business. Ashley needed business.

"I could send Will into town to talk with them a bit," she said lightly, pushing beans around on her plate. "I'm sure they'd hate to lose the business Tara brings them."

"Scarlett—"

"Maybe Will could talk to the Fontaines and the Tarletons, too. Just to let Bullard know how important this expansion would be to you—"

"Scarlett—"

"Bullard's wouldn't want to lose their business, either. All those old County families would stand with you, I'm sure of it."

"Scarlett!" Ashley finally raised his voice. "No. I won't push someone else toward failure just to make a profit for myself." Ashley laid a hand on Beau's shoulder and smiled at his son. "We're doing just fine."

"But, Ashley—"

"No. I can not make my profits by pushing the ruin of others."

Scarlett's mouth tightened, but she let it drop, seething inwardly. _Damn his honor! He's got to think of Beau - they have barely a blanket between them and the wind. I know he's just another one of those fools who'd rather be genteel and ruined than compromise his supposed principles for security, but he has to think of Beau! And Melly_ , her heart stuttered, _Melly wanted me to take care of him. But his damned honor makes it so hard!_

She pushed her food around on her plate like a sullen child. Wade and Beau whispered to each other. Ashley looked uncomfortable. _Well_ , she thought spitefully, _he should_. Then Ella's high, girlish voice rose above the murmurs of the boys.

"Mother, will we still have a tree for Christmas?"

Scarlett threw a sideways glance at her daughter. "Yes, of course, Ella."

"Oh, good!" Ella sighed. "I was so worried. Uncle Rhett always got the tree, you know," Ella chattered gaily to Ashley, "and I just didn't know if we would have a tree now. Are you going to help us get a tree, Uncle Ashley?"

Scarlett's mouth went dry. She looked over Ashley's shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. It was foolish, silly. She had not discussed Rhett's absence with Ashley, but of course he knew. Everyone in Atlanta knew that Rhett was not at home. _He's left before_ , Scarlett thought. _He was gone for months that time he took Bonnie away. That's all this is, another extended trip, and that's all anyone has to know about it_. But she couldn't look at Ashley to see if he had divined the truth, the severity of the rupture.

 _What was often enough?_

"Don't be silly, Ella," Scarlett said tersely. "We can get a tree without Uncle Rhett. I'll send Pork out this week."

"It'll be so nice to have a Christmas tree," Ella mused. "The tree is always so pretty. When can we hang our stockings, Mother? Will Bonnie still have a stocking this year?"

Scarlett gripped her silverware until her knuckles went white. "No," she whispered. "No, Ella, she won't have a stocking this year."

"Oh." Ella paused. "Will Beau have a stocking here? Will you come over for Christmas, cousin Beau?" Ella beamed at him across the table.

Wade spoke up. "Don't be such a goose, Ella, Beau has his own house. He'll have a stocking at home."

"I just thought it would be nice -" Ella began at the same time as Scarlett snapped at Wade, "Don't talk to your sister like that, Wade Hampton."

In the brittle atmosphere of the house on Peachtree Street, that was the wrong thing to say. Scarlett knew it immediately.

"You talk to us like that all the time, _Mother_ ," said Wade.

"Now, Wade." With Ashley wading into the fray, Scarlett felt her cheeks heat with shame. Beau had never spoken to his parents like this; even Wade wouldn't have dared speak so crossly to his Aunt Melly. But to Scarlett, his own mother, he was rude to the point of cruelty. Where once he had seemed afraid to even meet her eyes, now he held her gaze with a challenge in his own formerly meek brown eyes.

"I'm not hungry," Wade interrupted his uncle. "May I please be excused, Uncle Ashley?"

"Wade Hampton!" Scarlett chastised.

"Please, Uncle Ashley," he repeated, with a biting emphasis on the last two words.

Scarlett stared at her son and still refused to meet Ashley's eyes. She heard his resigned sigh.

"Yes, Wade, you may be excused. You too, Beau, if you'd like."

Before the backs of their heels had cleared the doorway, Ella spoke up again.

"Do you think Uncle Rhett will come home with Santa Claus? I asked him to. I asked Santa to bring Uncle Rhett. Mother, can we make popcorn strings? Bonnie always used to eat all the popcorn. Will Uncle Rhett come home for Christmas?"

Ella nattered on endlessly, jumping from one topic to another although, Scarlett thought bitterly, at least her general theme was the same. Christmas. Christmas, and Uncle Rhett. And damn him again! At some point in the last years he had stolen all her children's hearts, not just Bonnie's.

Eventually, Ashley interrupted the stream of chatter. "Ella, why don't you go on up and join Wade and Beau in the nursery. You can all find something to play together."

"But, Uncle Ashley -"

"Go on now, Ella. The boys are waiting for you."

Once Ella had gone, the dining room fell silent. The table was cleared, and coffee and brandy left in place of the rich dinner. Scarlett added a liberal amount of brandy to her cup, and finally looked at Ashley, challenging the censure in his grey eyes.

"Children...get so excited for Christmas, Scarlett. And it's been - a hard year. Wade's just having a hard time." She had to look away again, sure that her face would give too much away. It _had_ been a hard year, but Ashley didn't even know the truth about that final blow.

"Of course," she replied, trying to keep her voice light. "He's just...adjusting."

"Beau, too...I just don't know how we'll get through this year, without her."

Scarlett's eyes were opened again in one of those rare moments of empathy where she understood someone else's pain, and felt pity without accompanying contempt. They both faced a Christmas of horrible firsts. No Melanie, no Bonnie. No sign of Rhett.

"Oh - Ashley," she whispered. "You and Beau must come over here Christmas Eve. You can't be alone."

"Scarlett, you do too much for us—"

"Fiddle-dee-dee! That is nonsense, Ashley Wilkes. Why, we're practically family. We are family! India can come - if she will come - and Aunt Pitty, and I will even invite Uncle Henry. Surely for Christmas, for Beau's sake, they can be together at the same table. India and I can, for Beau's sake. Oh, say yes, Ashley! Say yes."

His level grey gaze held her eyes for a moment. She felt she could see the question on the tip of his tongue, or was it just because that question was foremost in her mind as well? Will Rhett be there? If only she knew.

"Yes, Scarlett. Of course, let's have Christmas together."

They finished their coffees in silence. Scarlett went upstairs with him to collect Beau from the nursery. She hugged and kissed the dear little boy goodnight, and did the same for Ella before turning her over to Prissy's care. Even Wade accepted her caresses, his temper apparently cooled, though he stood stiffly in her arms.

Scarlett followed Ashley and Beau back downstairs, and showed them to the door. She turned her cheek again for Ashley's kiss. When the diminished Wilkeses had left, she went back into the dining room. The uncorked brandy decanter stood next to her empty cup. She took them both up to her room.

Wade was becoming more and more unmanageable. He had never been so disrespectful with Ashley present before. He hadn't had a kind word for his mother in months, but when Ashley or Beau were around, he had managed to hold his tongue - mostly by ignoring her completely. She simply didn't know what to do with her son, how to reach him, what he needed. Rhett had been part of Wade's life since his babyhood, and Rhett's relationship with her son was not only stronger than her own, though it pained her to admit it, but he understood children better. He would be able to deal with this new, angry child who had come to Tara from Marietta, and had only gotten worse since then.

Scarlett nursed one glass of brandy, then two. The pleasant, familiar warmth spread through her, giving lightness to her limbs and her troubles. She curled up in a nest of pillows against the plushly padded headboard, the decanter within reach on the side table. Thank God for Ella, and how strange that was! Her flighty child, the ugly and unwanted baby from Frank Kennedy, had somehow become a comfort, even as her brother had become a torment. Ella's face had narrowed as she'd grown and lost its rounded monkey look, a blessing to her vain mother. Her concentration had not improved, but the girl's sweetness soothed Scarlett. Ella, at least, was still a faithful, biddable child.

Scarlett thought of Bonnie, her bright, vivacious, spirited favorite. She finished her third glass with a shaky toss, the sweet liquor burning her throat.

With an unsteady hand and a more somber mood, she poured another glass. Bonnie had been the last thread tying her marriage together, invisibly, unbeknownst to her.

Since Rhett had left, she had thought of him constantly, rehearsed lines in her head, set plans to win him back, but she was helpless against his ongoing absence. What could she do now?

"Damn you, Rhett," she whispered to the empty room. She could face anything, but not when there was nothing - or no one - _to_ face. "You're a coward, Rhett Butler. You're rotten. You're worthless!" and her voice rose in anger as she tried to convince herself. And with the rage rising within her, she lobbed the full glass at the fireplace on the other side of her room.

…

Their small family meals were strained in the week that followed. Wade made every effort not to interact with his mother at all, making only monotone, monosyllabic responses to any question put to him. Ella even was quiet and still. Scarlett slept poorly, waking frequently with nightmares and to the comfort of Ella's soft kiss on her cheek as the child climbed into her bed in the middle of the long nights.

She avoided Ashley that week. The mill ledger sat on the corner of her desk at home, ignored. On Wednesday, she sent Pork out to buy the Christmas tree. Even the arrival of the holiday symbol could not stir Wade from his apathy, but Ella nearly pounced on her when she arrived home that evening. The girl was full of questions. Scarlett promised they could work, together, to decorate the tree the next day.

Scarlett planned to stay home, to spend the day with the children, and to hopefully catch up on some of the sleep she had lost. But she rose at dawn, bleary-eyed but with too restless a mind. Gently extricating herself from Ella, she shrugged into the dark green wrapper left carelessly over the vanity bench the night before and, lifting the depleted decanter from her side table, slipped out of the bedroom.

The house was still quiet, but as she left the bottle in the dining room she could hear a clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Going through, Scarlett found Ceceilia, the cook, starting breakfast while Prissy nursed a cup of hot coffee. The servants started at Scarlett's presence in the kitchen. The self-possessed Ceceilia gave a deferential nod but Prissy stammered awkward good mornings.

"I'd like you to help me dress, Prissy," Scarlett said over her mumbling. "Come up when you've finished your coffee."

Upstairs, Scarlett awkwardly hefted Ella in her arms. The girl was skinny but growing tall, and Scarlett struggled to cradle her and walk with a steady gait to the nursery where Ella still slept, alone. Wade had been given his own bedroom last year, as befitted a boy growing - too fast now - into a man. Ella's head lolled against Scarlett's shoulder and she snuggled into the soft velvet of the wrapper. When Scarlett lowered her, a little too quickly, into her bed, she stirred restlessly until Scarlett pulled the covers up and, leaning over her, kissed her forehead. Faint traces of yesterday's scent still clung to Scarlett's skin and hair, and enveloped Ella as her mother leaned over, comforting her back into sleep.

She was at her vanity, fidgeting idly with the many bottles and powders, when Prissy slipped through the heavy door. Laced, dressed, and coiffed, she dismissed Prissy to see to Wade and Ella. Scarlett sat down in front of the vanity again and peered into the mirror with a critical eye. She really did need to sleep more, if her mind would only cooperate. And the flat black of her mourning dress, unrelieved by frills and furbelows, did her wan complexion no favors. Her hand hovered briefly over the pot of rouge; but after all, today it would be just her and the children. And she vowed, meeting her own pale green eyes in the mirror, that today would be pleasant and happy for them. They would decorate the tree, string popcorn, and hang their stockings; and there would be no room for anything other than joyful anticipation of the upcoming holiday.

Breakfast was a strain on her promise. Ella bounced restlessly on her chair and barely missed knocking over her cup of milk with a flying elbow. Scarlett forced a smile that looked more like a grimace, and gently pleaded with Ella to sit still. Wade maintained his steadfast silence, barely responding to even the most direct questions. Scarlett bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from snapping at him in chastisement.

After breakfast they went through to the parlor. Scarlett had intended to sit demurely to one side while the children scrambled around to hang the ornaments, but Ella had other ideas. For every bright bauble she hung in arm's reach, she wanted Scarlett to reach up to hang another one higher. Ella had something to say about each one and her easy chatter filled what would have been a tense, empty quiet.

The pretty blue glass ball was Bonnie's favorite, and the cameo on the pearlescent gold one was almost as pretty as Mother, didn't the beads sparkle so pretty, but oh this one was bent, Mother please can you hang it in the back?

Even Wade started to smile as the tree filled. The glass balls caught the parlor lights and sparkled cheerily, brightening the room in more ways than one. Prissy brought in large bowls of popped corn and red thread. Scarlett threaded needles for Wade and Ella and they both bent their heads in a perfect picture of intense concentration. A sudden warm rush of emotion swamped her, the motherly affection she often struggled so to find. She ran a hand over Ella's smooth scalp, with her pale red hair pulled tightly into braids. Ella lifted her head and smiled, then snuggled close to Scarlett's side before bending back to her task.

Buoyed by the unfamiliar feeling, Scarlett forgot herself and reached out to muss Wade's curls. For a moment, she would have sworn she saw him smile; then he jerked his head away roughly and unmistakably scowled at her. With an effort she resisted the immediate urge to snap at him. The inside of her mouth threatened to become sore from the repeated need to physically bite off her temper.

Ella's attention soon wandered from her string of popcorn and Scarlett took over while the girl moved back to the tree, fluttering around it like a plain little hummingbird, adjusting ornaments to suit herself.

"Mother?" Scarlett started in shock at Wade's quiet voice, pricking her finger on the needle. Her son sounded more respectful than he had since Tara, deferential to the point of shyness and possibly a little sad. Uncertain and not wanting to rile him, Scarlett sucked her pricked finger and said nothing. She watched him out of the corner of her eye.

"Will - do you think Uncle Rhett will come home for Christmas?"

Scarlett's stomach turned over and she felt her skin growing hot. She didn't know, and she didn't know how to answer her son.

"He didn't come for Ella's birthday. But Christmas is special, isn't it? Mother?"

"Uncle" Rhett was the only father Wade had ever really known. He had never met his own father, had lived with Frank as his stepfather for just more than year. Rhett had dandled her infant son on his knee in the first years of the war, had brought him presents regularly, and had been his stepfather for five years. Before Bonnie's birth, Wade was the child he had taken abroad. Not only was he more father than Wade had otherwise had, she felt sure that Wade loved him more than he had ever loved her. And how could she blame the boy? She had laid so many plans in his infancy - just as she had planned to be a great lady, someday. And here she was, with an angry son, an absent husband, and her only friend dead. The other ladies of Atlanta were tolerating her, now, at least for short weekly calls, but she didn't dare push that - and they certainly weren't friends! She hadn't managed to be a lady, or a mother.

Melly was dead. It was too late to finally appreciate her one true friend. But all the rest - was it too late?

"It is special, Wade," she answered quietly. Her hand twitched to touch his soft brown hair again, but she couldn't risk it. "But I don't know if Uncle Rhett will make it home. His...business can take him so far away. But I'm sure he'll come see you...soon." _Someday._

For once, Wade didn't yell at her, didn't throw it in her face how he would have preferred - if he had his choice of parent - to be with Uncle Rhett. She thought she heard him sigh.

"Uncle Ashley and Beau will come over on Christmas Eve, and Uncle Henry and Aunt Pittypat. We'll all be together as a family." How Ashley had convinced Henry and Pittypat - mostly Pittypat - to spend the evening together, Scarlett did not know, but she guessed it had something to do with Melanie's death. Had Ashley actually had to use his grief, and Beau's, to win them over? "Your Aunt India will join us, too. Won't it be nice, to all be together?"

Wade shrugged. "I suppose. I'm done with this string, Mother. May I be excused? Please."

Scarlett excused him and tied off the finished strands, then with Ella's ineffectual help, draped them over the tree. Ella begged her departure as well, and ran off into the house. Scarlett poked through the boxes. They had been mostly emptied to decorate the tree, but in one she found the stockings. She set one out for herself, Wade, and Ella. Her hand hovered, hesitating, over Rhett's. Was it too optimistic to have that one hung up? Would it just exacerbate the children's disappointment if he did not return home?

The last stocking in the box was bright blue. It would, of course, have been Bonnie's. Her throat tightened as she stared down with stinging eyes. She laid Rhett's stocking back in the box, covering the memory completely.

…

Over the next several days, Wade's question burned in her mind. Would Rhett come home for Christmas? Was Christmas - someday? If he did not come home, the gossip - which she knew followed her already, stinging behind her back - would run rampant. The holiday was coming up fast. There had been no word from him in weeks. Not even a secondhand report, like that awful letter she had received from Aunt Pauline when he had disappeared with Bonnie. Without Bonnie, would anything pull him home? It was difficult to put faith in words that hadn't even been a promise. Yet he had always cared for Wade and Ella - or had that been as much an act as he had put on pretending _not_ to care for her?

Time did not slow down, and Rhett did not show.

On Christmas Eve, the house was full with family. Ashley and Beau, India and Aunt Pittypat, and Uncle Henry on his best behavior. They spent a somber moment at the dinner table raising a toast to Melanie, but other than that the high spirits of the children dominated the evening.

The seating plan had been difficult, especially as she still clung, though without much hope, to the possibility that Rhett might arrive for supper. Scarlett would have preferred to leave his place open at the head of the table, as she did for their small Sunday suppers, but feared it might only emphasize his absence. A fragile truce had existed between herself and India since Melly's death, but it would be tense and awkward to be seated together. Ella would love to be close to her mother, but if both children flanked her there was sure to be a fight with Wade, and she wasn't sure she could trust him next to India, either. They might find common ground in their hatred of her! Ella and Pitty were too fidgety to sit close together. They would distract or agitate everyone else and probably spill twice as many dishes as Ella alone.

In the end, she gave Henry the place of honor, with his great-nephews on either side. She placed India between Beau and Pitty, and Ashley and Ella across the table. Pitty bobbed like a cork on the water, unsettled by her brother's proximity. Even before the egg nog was served, her round old cheeks were flushed apple red and her grey curls bounced as she twittered and fanned herself regularly. Ella could barely stay seated. She ate most of her meal standing in front of her chair, rocking on her heels and bouncing on her toes, too excited for words. That was a small blessing, thought Scarlett, spared the embarrassment of questions about Rhett. To keep the peace - and Ella's silence - she did not scold her daughter to take her seat.

No one mentioned the absence of the head of the household, but Scarlett felt it keenly. When conversation lagged or grew strained, she thought of Rhett's easy manner, his ready supply of interesting stories, his ability to make others laugh even against their better judgement. Scarlett was too leery of emotional landmines to be at ease. The wrong word might make Wade angry, draw a bitter comment from India, hurt Ashley's feelings, or induce Pittypat to faint. Still, they managed. She had known these people longer than anyone else in Atlanta. They knew her, too - sometimes to her detriment - but they had the knowledge and understanding she had come to find lacking in her Scallawag friends. They had the common background she had craved after Bonnie's death, and even in the awkward silences, that familiarity was comforting.

After dinner, the children were indulged with iced creams while the adults shared tall glasses from the bowl of egg nog.

"Merry Christmas!" Ashley toasted, as everyone raised their glasses - and the children, spoons of melting cream. The rum in the thick drink tingled in her throat as she swallowed, and she looked down the long table willing Rhett to appear at the other end. It was only Henry, his grey mustache tinged milky white from the drink.

After dessert, they all retired to the parlor to admire the tree and for an awkward exchange of gifts. Scarlett had, with one exception, managed to exercise restraint to match what her poorer relations would be able to give. There were new hats for Pitty and for India. Heavy work gloves for the lumber yard for Ashley. A fine steel nib pen for Uncle Henry, elegantly carved from tip to end. From everyone, there was a superfluity of books, small wooden animals, and sweets for the boys and Ella. Scarlet quietly accepted a book from India and managed, she hoped, not to raise her eyebrows at the gift. Ashley gave her handkerchiefs which, she supposed, was a neutral enough present at which no one could look askance.

"Wade, Ella, Beau!" Scarlett called into the quieting room. "There is one more present for you all outside. It is something very special, to be shared. Do you all promise to share?"

Ella answered quickly, "Ooh, yes, Mother!" and Beau echoed her with an excited, "Yes, Aunt Scarlett!" She saw Wade open his mouth and then, catching himself, he gave only a stoic nod.

"Let's all go outside, then." Ella and Beau slipped hot little hands in hers and the whole group trooped to the rear veranda. Pork was waiting on the steps, and at Scarlett's nod he took off into the darkness. When he returned leading the large pony, Scarlett's hand tightened involuntarily on Ella's.

She had disguised the pony as a present for all three children, but in truth, it was part of keeping her promise to Melanie, for Beau. Ella was still afraid of all animals except Bonnie's former kitten and the cranky old yellow cat that rarely came out of hiding. Wade too had yet to express much interest in horses, but he was growing and changing in so many other ways, perhaps it would turn out to be a good gift for her son.

"The pony will stay here, but Beau, you are welcome to come visit him any time. No one is to do any riding alone, do you understand me? Do you - Wade?" She prompted for direct answers instead of silent nods. "You must ask me, or Uncle Ashley, if you want to go riding."

It was too dark to spend much time getting to know the animal. When the family members turned to go inside, Ashley out a hand to Scarlett's arm and held her back. She let Beau and Ella go ahead, Ella following the boys in silence while they loudly made plans for their pony.

"Scarlett," said Ashley gravely, "you didn't need to buy a horse."

"Oh it's just a pony, Ashley, I thought the children—"

"Your children? Do you think Ella will ever go near it?"

"She's growing up, Ashley—"

"So is Wade, who is liable to outgrow that size pony in no time."

"He's not that tall yet—"

"I'm saying, Scarlett, that as a gift for your children, a pony is rather odd." They were silent a moment. "I'm sure Beau will love to come ride it."

The Wilkeses and Hamiltons went home shortly. Scarlett gave the excited children over to Prissy's care to be put to bed. She kissed them goodnight, receiving a hug from Ella and silence from Wade in return. Scarlett moved around the parlor, idly tidying the abandoned presents into neat piles. Restless, she passed on into dining room. The empty glasses and nearly full bowl of egg nog were still on the table, with the children's bowls of melted cream. She poured herself a new glass and took it back to the parlor. The presents for tomorrow were hidden in a sideboard, and she filled the stockings and set the small packages under the tree. A larger box with Rhett's name on the tag she shoved farther back into the dark interior of the cabinet.

Scarlett extinguished all the lights but one, on a spindly little table next to a soft pink chair where she curled up, turned to one side to accommodate her bustle and, kicking off her slippers, tucked her feet up under herself. She heard the clatter as the dessert dishes were cleared away, the soft footfalls of servants closing up the house for the night. She nursed the warming glass as the house went still and silent around her.

 _What was often enough?_

If he didn't come home for Christmas - would he ever? He had never cared about gossip, except when he had been fighting for Bonnie's future place in Atlanta society. Perhaps it had all been a lie.

She was lonely. The loneliness that had been deepening since Bonnie's death had opened like a chasm beneath her feet when Melanie had followed. Rhett had been no comfort, soddenly drunk, and now gone - yet still she wished fervently for comfort he would likely not be able or inclined to give. It went nowhere to have her mind - and her heart - set upon him when he remained stubbornly absent from her life. Her mind was growing tired of wearing these same paths over and over again, but she was not ready to be defeated. If Rhett would not come back, she - she would have to go to him. She didn't know where he might be, but she knew where to start - in Charleston, with his mother.

Scarlett felt a cold breeze across the back of her neck, stirring strands of hair that had fallen loose from her coiffure, and shivered. She quickly swallowed the last of her drink, but the rum had lost its potency and the creeping chill persisted. She stiffened in the chair as she heard the catch of a latch, the almost noiseless sound of the front door opening audible in the otherwise silent house. Outwardly calm, she tightened her fingers around the glass in her hand, preparing to treat it as a weapon if necessary. Inwardly, fear and memory wrapped chilling hands around her heart, and she forced herself to remember the war was over and she was in peaceful, civilized Atlanta, not desolate Tara in the middle of an enemy occupation. She cursed the servants for not locking the front door, letting hot anger drive some of the fear away. Her solitary light in the front window must have called to some vagrant criminal. But she would not be helplessly afraid. She brought the heavy glass up in front of her and took a breath, readying a scream deep in her lungs. With one hand pressing down her skirts to still their rustling, she slid from the chair and padded on her stockinged feet to the parlor entrance. She heard the heavy front door thud softly closed just as she reached the doorway.

She was going from the light of the parlor behind her to the blackness of the hallway, and her eyes blinked involuntarily as they struggled to adjust, to see out into the darkness. Her form stood out starkly in the light behind her, the flat black of her dress unrelieved by ornament fading into the shadows on the floor. As her eyes adjusted, her fear subsided but her heartbeat sped up, leaving her breathless. She was sure of it - absolutely sure - there was only one set of shoulders so broad in all of Atlanta. The glass dropped from her hands, landing almost silently on the plush carpeting.

When he turned away from the door, towards her, she saw a flash of white teeth stand out in the darkness. Rhett had come home.

 _A/N: I believe ffnet eats links, but if you Google "Gold, Silver and Diamond Rivière-Bracelet Combination" you should find the necklace inspiration at Sothebys. If that doesn't work the full name of it at auction was "Gold, Silver and Diamond Rivière-Bracelet Combination with an Emerald and Diamond Pendant"._


	5. Chapter 5

" _[E]ven while there are serious questions yet to be settled - ought it not to be, and is it not, a merry Christmas?"_

\- Harper's Weekly, December 26, 1863

* * *

 _Atlanta, Georgia, December 1873_

"You're up late, Mrs. Butler."

Scarlett's heart stopped, turned over, and began beating again madly. Rhett was shadow and size, and the gleam of white teeth flashing as he spoke. She could not make out the details of his features or his expression. His voice was flat and as empty as the last time she had heard it, chilling her to the bone and immediately arresting any movement she might have made towards her husband.

Scarlett knotted her hands together at her waist, not trusting the darkness to hide their trembling from his keen eyes. She swallowed with difficulty around the lump forming in her throat, casting about frantically for something to say that would strike the right tone. She would not reveal herself yet and give him something with which to mock her, a way to hurt or humiliate her. She needed time to read him and decide a course of action - at the very least, she needed light by which to see his face!

"And you are home late, Captain Butler." Her voice came out weaker than she would have liked, but at least it did not tremble.

She could tell Rhett's shrug by the shift of shadows. They stood in silence, Scarlett clenching her teeth against a rush of words. She had longed for this moment - longed for this but failed to think through what might come after, much like her long-ago dreams of marriage to Ashley had never gone past the catching. Now Rhett was home, he was _here_ , now what? He stood so still, silent, he made no move towards her. The lump in her throat rose as she realized nothing had changed since fall. He hadn't gone away and realized he couldn't live without her, as she had hoped without real conviction. He had come back to keep up appearances. Or for the children, maybe. But not for her.

She couldn't bear it. She needed to prepare some defense against his indifference, to plan some sort of attack. If Rhett still felt the same as when he left, well, so did she. She would win him back. Now that he was here at home, she just had to come up with a plan.

Oh, she still felt the same as that awful September night. The madness of her beating heart, the lump in her throat, the trembling of her fingers, every part of her being was crying out to him. Love like this did not wear out! There must be something left for her, some part of him she could reach.

"Wade and Ella are already in bed. We could hardly get them to sleep for excitement, and if you wake them now they'll never go back to bed. You can say hello in the morning."

"That's fine, Scarlett. I don't need to wake them up."

"You can see them Christmas morning," she returned, aware that she was repeating herself but not knowing what else to say and besides, it felt good to remind him of the holiday that he had already half-missed. She hoped he felt even a little guilty. They fell silent again, until Scarlett's patience ran out. The egg nog had begun to make her sleepy, wearing her down, and if she didn't get away from him now, she might do something foolish.

"Goodnight, Rhett." Her skirts brushed his legs as she crossed to the stairs, close enough for the scent of him to catch the edges of her awareness. The familiar scents that had always meant home and security, since she had been a child in her father's arms. Rhett smelled of drink and cigars, and faintly of horses from his ride to the house. Her first steps on the stairs were unsteady, but she clenched her hands in her skirts and steeled herself for the long walk up.

Scarlett's dreams that night were vicious. She nearly sobbed with relief to wake up to Ella's small, concerned face leaning over her. "Just dreams, Mother!" was Ella's familiar reassurance. The pair snuggled down into Scarlett's bed, and she willed her racing heart to slow. She tried to focus on the warmth and comfort of her daughter's presence, to drive away the memory of mist and Rhett's back always out of reach, fading in and out of fog and darkness.

Ella woke her again in the early morning. The rising sun was a faint glow at the edges of the sky outside the window. Ella's bouncing excitement shook the whole bed.

"Mother! Mother, wake up! Are you awake? It's Christmas, you said we could have stockings before breakfast, wake up, please let's go downstairs?"

Scarlett groaned and pressed the heels of both hands against her burning eyes. "Yes, Ella. It's Christmas."

"Please get up, Mother!" Ella tugged gently at the covers, not removing them, just restlessly pulling and shifting them. Scarlett sat up slowly, still fatigued, needing more time to pull her mind from sleep and let her eyes adjust to the light. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, pivoting her body around Ella's, and her daughter slid off the bed and began to dance around the room.

"The stockings will be full, won't they? And we'll have sweets - may I eat some before breakfast? Because it's a special day?"

With Ella's constant chatter, Scarlett was sloughing off the heavy weight of sleep and trading it for a piercing headache. "Yes, Ella," she replied shortly, and slid from the bed. She slipped into a wrapper, carelessly discarded on the vanity bench the day before, and sat down in its place. Ella was at her side in an instant, leaning close and crowding her, pestering her again.

"Mother please, can't we go downstairs?"

"Let me fix my hair, Ella, your presents aren't going anywhere."

"Oh Mother you are beautiful!" Ella said and leaned forward with an impulsive hug. Scarlett felt the heat of a warm, happy blush in her cheeks; except for their shared nighttime comfort, Ella did not initiate much contact with her mother. And, of course, Wade did not. No one ran to greet her anymore like Bonnie had done. The uncoerced affection from Ella warmed her inside and out, and gave her some small hope that her children - or at least her daughter - didn't think her such a horrible mother after all. Scarlett smiled softly and, won over by her daughter's praise, briefly ran her brush through her hair, which was heavy enough that it did not much tangle in sleep, and tied it back with a dark currant-colored ribbon. She pinched a bit of color into her cheeks, just in case Rhett was already awake.

Rhett! The memory of his late-night return made her tremble. Rhett might be downstairs waiting for them. She flattened her hands on the vanity to still their shaking. _I must be sweet, and gracious_ , she thought. _I must show him how nice it could be, to come back here and stay. I will be so kind and caring and he will know, he will see, that all those things he said he wanted - he can have them here, with me. With us_ , she amended, looking sideways at Ella, who, having lost interest, was hopping around the room aimlessly again. _We'll just have to make him see that his roots are here, and we need him_. If only she could have another baby, truly rooting him to Atlanta, or even better if only Bonnie had not died - but he had always been kind to Wade and Ella. He cared for them. They would have to be enough, for now.

She stood and instantly, Ella was pressed to her side. "Can we go down now, please, Mother?" Scarlett mussed the sleep-tangled curls and kissed them.

"Yes, Ella, let's go see your presents."

Ella kept up her stream of chatter - "And your presents, too, Mother, won't Santa Claus have brought you presents? Do you think he got my letter? I do need those two new cups for my tea set…"

Hand in hand, the pair of them turned from Scarlett's door and went down the stairs. They did not see Rhett emerge from his room, across the hall and one door down in the opposite direction. Dark eyebrows went up in perfect surprise at the sight of mother and daughter coming out of the same room, and walking hand-in-hand. Curiosity stirred, weakly wondering at the explanation for this behavior from a woman who had never been known to spend any time at all with Frank Kennedy's daughter, if she could help it. He shrugged as he pulled his own door shut behind him. Not that it mattered to him if Scarlett had finally found some motherly affection for his stepchildren. It was too late for their own children.

Ella was jumping up and down excitedly in front of the mantel when Rhett crossed the parlor threshold. His dark eyes quickly took in Wade, skinny arms crossed over his thin chest, holding up the wall by the front window. Wade's warm brown eyes were dark and cross and his mouth pulled sullenly down at the corners. Scarlett lifted Ella's stocking down and handed it to her, then took Wade's. He unbent enough to grip the stocking loosely by the open end.

Wade was the first to notice Rhett, when he turned to take a seat at the far end of the room. He stopped in his tracks and Rhett could see the small muscles in the boy's jaw jump as he clenched his teeth.

"Uncle Rhett?"

At the question, Ella and Scarlett both turned towards the door. Ella's shrieks burst in the quiet.

"Uncle Rhett! Mother it's Uncle Rhett!" Her little feet pelted across the soft carpet. She threw her arms around his waist, her stocking still clutched carefully in one hand. "Oh Uncle Rhett, I knew Santa would listen to me, I just knew it. He always does bring just what I ask for."

Rhett flashed his white teeth in a smile and tucked his hands under Ella's armpits, lifting her to eye level.

"And a Merry Christmas to you, Ella. Well of course I came - back - with Santa. And quite a long ride it was, too, all the way from the North Pole."

Ella's plain brown eyes went wide. "Did you REALLY, Uncle Rhett? Ride with Santa?"

He set her back on her feet. "How else do you think all these presents arrived?" he asked with a sweeping wave of his arm, taking in the tree. The few presents that had been set under it last night had been subsumed by the mountain of gifts he had unloaded there.

A hypocritical and baseless fear swept over Scarlett. Rhett should hardly be so extravagant in these times. She snapped, "You don't need to spoil them, Rhett," and regretted the words even before they had passed her lips.

Rhett looked at her over Wade's dark head, one arm wrapped around her son's shoulders, and whatever light he had turned on for the children was gone, leaving his expression smooth and imperturbable. "Just a little Christmas cheer, my pet. And, I assure you, this is nothing against that new pony I saw in the stables." It seemed something flickered in his dark eyes, but it passed too quickly for her poor insight to decipher. She did realize, belatedly, that bringing a new pony into the house so soon might not have been the best choice to set her off well in Rhett's eyes. Would he again think her heartless in light of Bonnie's death? No, she hadn't thought that through at all - had thought only of her hasty promises on Melanie's deathbed.

Ella and Wade had gone quickly to the pile under the tree and were passing presents back and forth excitedly. Unsettled and uneasy with Rhett, Scarlett turned to the children instead.

"Ella! Wade!" she snapped, "I said you could have your stockings before breakfast. You can open those later."

"Oh, Mother," Ella began to plead. Wade just sat back on his heels and stared at her with stony eyes.

"Scarlett!" cried Rhett jovially. "My dear, it is Christmas! What can it hurt to open presents before breakfast. Why, we don't want to give Santa time to change his mind," he said with a twinkle in his eye as he got down on the floor next to Ella.

"Oh, no, Uncle Rhett, he wouldn't?" Ella asked, her eyes wide with worry. Scarlett standing there felt absolutely impotent. She fisted her hands at her side. More fool she, to think he would be a _help_ with the children. She moved to her pink chair and sat down stiffly.

Wade and Ella crowded close to Rhett, accepting gifts and crowing with delight at each one. Sitting apart, Scarlett watched in a confusion of emotion. Now she was angry, a helpless and familiar feeling when it came to Rhett. She was lonely, his return seemingly offering no comfort to her and instead threatening to cut what fragile ties she had with her own children. She yearned and loved and struggled to think clearly, to do and say the right thing - the things that would win him over, not turn him away.

Then Ella padded over and crawled into her lap. Scarlett's jolt of surprise almost dumped the girl before she secured her seat. Ella rarely dared to approach her mother during the day, as Scarlett's fearsome temper was liable to rear at any moment. She held another new doll, with pretty red-brown curls and a green dress.

"Mother, look," Ella said softly. "Does she look like me?"

Scarlett bent her head to study the doll. Of course, its facial features looked nothing like her daughter, but the reddish curls and brown eyes bore a loose resemblance. "Not at all," Scarlett answered, then kissed Ella's cheek, "for you are much prettier than any doll."

Ella beamed at the unprecedented compliment and threw her arms happily around Scarlett's neck in a quick hug.

She settled back down. "But she's still a very pretty doll, isn't she, Mother?"

"Yes she is, precious. Are you all done opening presents?"

Ella nodded, preoccupied with studying her doll.

"And did Santa bring you very many nice things?"

"Oh, yes!" she enthused, quickly warming to the topic. "So very many nice dresses for my dolls, and a little tea set just their size and my new teacups for me and Wade got new books and soldiers and..."

 _God's nightgown_ , thought Scarlett, but lightly, with only a touch of exasperation. _She certainly can talk forever_. As Ella continued making a complete list of every single gift, then rehashed it with added detail, Scarlett's attention wandered back to Rhett. He was bent over a book, his black head next to Wade's light brown curls. They were talking too quietly for her to hear over Ella's shrill patter. All the presents opened already? After the crate in November, she shouldn't have expected much for herself, but disappointment still hurt her. She thought of the present with Rhett's name on the tag, shoved into the dark interior corner of the sideboard. She would not let him know she had bought him a gift, not knowing if he would be home, if he had not even thought of her at all. She rested her cheek against Ella's head, tuning out the chatter.

If Bonnie were alive...what was Rhett thinking? she wondered idly, watching him with Wade. If Bonnie were alive, would he have been home with them all this time? Would he have still left, and taken their daughter away again? She missed them both so much. Christmas was a holiday made for Bonnie. Her delight in every decorative bauble and gift was contagious, and she had been so sweet and earnest in her gratitude as to make the giving just as joyful. Scarlett tightened her arms around Ella, wishing she could hug both her daughters again.

Scarlett's eyes had filled with tears when Rhett looked up over Wade's head. They were far away and misty, like a rainstorm rolling in over the Irish hills of her ancestors. He stared, arrested by the heavy sadness in her face.

Wade elbowed him in the thigh, bringing his attention back to the gift, an illustrated atlas. Rhett's lungs ached and he realized he had momentarily stopped breathing.

When they finally went in to breakfast, Scarlett was silent through the meal. Rhett regaled them all with wild stories, but she was sure she had heard some of them before and knew he was still censoring clues to his whereabouts these last three months. After breakfast, she went up with the children to dress.

Hattie was not yet there when Scarlett reached her room. She passed on into the large dressing room and cast a hateful eye at the sprawl of black dresses. Scarlett knew Rhett hated to see her in mourning. _She_ hated it! December 25th - almost January - surely enough time had passed that she would not be judged too harshly for leaving mourning black behind. _I'm sure the old peahens would still judge me if I wore mourning for Bonnie and Melanie for the next ten years, but I just can't anymore_ , she thought. Not with Rhett home! And besides, no one else would see her today. She had no one to call on and expected no visitors.

She pushed aside the mourning gowns and found a pale green day dress that matched her eyes perfectly. The bustle was charmingly flounced and the neck a dotted Swiss muslin that was attractively sheer. It was appropriate for a lady to wear during the day without being dowdy and boring. Rhett had always seemed to like her best in green.

When Hattie arrived, she asked the maid to draw her a bath and wash her hair. She would start fresh. Rhett was home! She would be charming, and sweet. Above all, she would be sincere. He had claimed to believe her professions of love in September, but then surely he would not have left. No, he probably still thought she was in love with Ashley, no matter what she had said then. She would have to prove her love to him, entice him with charm, impress him with dignity and grace. She would have to resist the urge to snap at the children, no matter the provocation. She could do and be all these things. She must. Perhaps Wade would be on better behavior with Rhett at home. He had always behaved better around Rhett, even as a baby, and she hoped the charm would still hold.

The quiet afternoon with the children enjoying their gifts was almost unbearable for Scarlett, who found herself again wearing a hole in her cheek as she struggled to bite back her frustrations. By supper time, Ella's new toys were scattered all over the room. It seemed she no sooner picked up something to play with or read than she would lose interest in it and leave it behind, wherever her restless feet had carried her during her brief period of engagement. She would bring a doll to Scarlett to dress and and carelessly let it fall to the floor when she returned with a book to read instead; then wander off again halfway through the story. It made Scarlett's head ache.

Rhett had lounged on the other side of the room. He had smoked his way through a cigar and read the weekly newspaper. He had smiled encouragingly at every present Ella wanted to show off, though of course he had bought most of them. Wade took a seat near him with a new book, and carefully emulated his stepfather's posture while he read. He had completely ignored Scarlett's attempts to draw him into a conversation about his book. Wanting to avoid an angry scene more than she wanted to impress, or rather fool, Rhett with an idea about her new relationship with her children, Scarlett had not pressed him. But she was afraid her cheek might have bled a little with the effort of moving past his rebuff. Then both their heads had bent together again over another new album, joined shortly by Ella who pushed her way onto Rhett's lap, and across the room in a pale circle of lamplight Scarlett felt lonely and pushed aside. She arranged and rearranged her pale green skirt, shifted her seat a bit to place herself in the warmest lighting, and watched under her lashes to see if Rhett ever stole a glance at her.

By the time they went through to supper, Scarlett was on a precipice of frustrated emotion. Her jaw was squared, a familiar tell that was all too easy for Rhett to read. They weren't actively quarreling, so it wasn't a stubborn, heels-dug-in expression. Instead it would mean that she was fighting a rising Irish passion, clenching her teeth to keep the anger in. Once, he would have taken pleasure in pricking that defense, firing her temper beyond her already tenuous abilities of control. He would have taken pleasure in the flash of green eyes and hot words - pleasure at being able to fire _some_ passion and feeling in her. And deluding himself that it meant more, that those outbursts meant there was feeling in her to which she might, someday, awaken.

He studied her over the rim of his wine glass. As it turned out, he supposed he had been right about that after all. Ah, well.

"We have a new pony, Uncle Rhett," Wade informed him. Rhett turned his attention back to his stepchildren.

"Yes, Wade, I saw him in the stables. He's a fine Christmas present."

Wade shrugged. He wasn't overly enthused, but now that Uncle Rhett was home, he thought maybe the pony would be a way to spend time with his stepfather. And more than anything, Wade wanted to spend time with Rhett, to ingratiate himself with his stepfather, so that either he would not leave again or maybe, just maybe, he would take Wade with. Wade had dim memories of their trip to New Orleans, the excitement of the train ride and the wonder of a whole new city. He hadn't been very many places in his life - home, Tara, Marietta. Maybe Rhett would take him back to New Orleans, or to Charleston like he'd taken Bonnie. Maybe Rhett would take him absolutely anywhere other than this house with his Mother. Wade Hampton Hamilton wasn't afraid of her anymore. His father was dead; his Mammy had left; his Aunt Melly had died; and then Uncle Rhett had gone away. Wade had determined to blame Scarlett for all of it. He had heard too many churlish words from her mouth for years, had overheard too many arguments that had boiled over. His small heart had been rebuffed by her too many times.

"Can we go riding, Uncle Rhett?"

Rhett set his wineglass down and drew a finger around the rim. When he looked up, he saw Scarlett watching him, as he was aware she had been doing all day. Damn her. Of all the ways she could have tried to buy her children's affections, why did it have to be a damn pony?

"Maybe - maybe Beau and I could take turns?" Wade added, and Rhett saw Scarlett's infinitesimal flinch before she lowered her head to study the ham on her plate.

So that was it. The proud Mr. Wilkes couldn't accept such a large gift for his son, but if it was a gift for her children to _share_ , that was ostensibly their own, Ashley wouldn't have any say. And then Beau would have a new pony to ride whenever he wanted, which made far more sense than as a present for timid Ella or uninterested Wade.

Beau Wilkes was Melanie's son. But he was also Ashley Wilkes' son.

"What do you say to going riding tomorrow, just the two of us, Wade? We can go to the park."

Wade lit up. "Yes, sir!"

Ella began to whine. "But Wade! I want to play—"

Rhett smiled at the girl and cut short her burgeoning tantrum. "When we get back, we can all go for ice cream together. Would you like that, Ella?"

"Oh, yes! Do you think there'll be strawberry? Strawberry is just my favorite..." Ella prattled on, and Wade joined in, discussing the merits of ice cream flavors until Ella's wandering attention lit on something else. While the children gabbled, Rhett looked down the long table, and was unsettled to find Scarlett staring at him again. With her tip-tilted green eyes that caught gold sparks from the gas lights, and an almost unblinking stare, she looked impossibly feline - like a cat lying in wait for its prey. He would not be her prey. He would not be chased, like the wooden-headed Ashley Wilkes had been. If she hadn't believed him in September, he would have to drive that point home now.

This was a visit. Let it get around that he'd been home in Atlanta for Christmas. Let him be seen with the children - with her, if needs must - and then he could move on again. This house...for all that Wade and Ella might chatter and play, this house pressed in on him with heavy silence in the absence of Bonnie. The first of so many Christmases that his daughter would never see.

…

After supper, the children were allowed to each pick one new toy to take up to bed with them. Rhett sat back in his chair again, now with a glass of whisky instead of a cigar, and watched Scarlett dictate this before sending Wade and Ella upstairs with Prissy. When they were alone, she started to prowl the room, collecting Ella's scattered gifts.

"How domestic of you, my dear," Rhett drawled.

Her back was to him, and he watched it stiffen. The sheer fabric around her neck and shoulders went low enough that he could see the movement of her skin over her shoulder blades. She did not respond, and they were both silent for a long moment.

Scarlett knelt by the tree, her skirts billowing and rustling, and unloaded an armful of doll dresses and the new auburn-haired doll. "Thank you for the gifts," she said abruptly. "Wade and Ella are so happy to see you." She lifted her dark head and her eyes pierced him. "They'd like you to stay."

Carefully keeping his movements languid, Rhett began untying his cravat with one hand. "I'm not leaving tomorrow."

"But you _are_ leaving?"

Rhett sighed, his neck free of the suddenly constricting pressure of the tie. "Yes, Scarlett. I've not changed my mind."

"But Wade - Ella—"

She was trying a new strategy. How mercenary of her, to bring her children in as pawns. They hadn't figured at all in her pleadings before.

"You're their mother." He wondered what answer she might make to that. She would hardly admit to her own failings as a mother, even to tie him down.

"They think of you as their father."

"I have no children," Rhett said roughly. He stood abruptly, tossing back the rest of his whisky and going to the sideboard to pour another glass. His shaking hand sloshed drink over the sides and he set the bottle down with a thud. He took another large swallow.

He hadn't heard her approach over the roaring of blood in his ears, but a small white hand moved tentatively along his arm until hot, damp fingertips brushed his bare wrist. "You - we could—" Scarlett's voice sounded thick and strange. He jerked his arm away, spilling more of the whisky.

"No, Scarlett. Nothing's changed."

"But, Rhett -" she began, her hand coming back to clutch his sleeve. "Couldn't we -"

He grabbed her wrist with his free hand and tightened his grip until she released him. As soon as she did, he dropped her arm. "Scarlett. I've no wish to hurt you and no wish to lie to you. No. Nothing has changed." Ruthlessly, Rhett schooled his features to blandness and ignored the strong, sharp stab of unexplored feeling in his chest.

He heard the whisper of fabric as she moved, felt cool air fill the new spaces between them.

"I don't want to drive you away," she said in a stiff voice. "The children—" _Oh_ , Scarlett thought, _the children already think I've driven you away, and at least Wade seems to hate me for it!_ "The children want to spend time with you." I _want to spend time with you_ , she thought desperately. _Maybe nothing has changed, but I can't believe it never will._

"I'll keep my promises."

What more was there to say? She had already been rebuffed once tonight. It was time to retreat and make new plans. She pressed her sweating hands into her skirts and drew dignity around herself like a mantle. Before she could withdraw, Rhett moved past her into the hall. He turned from the dark staircase and went to the front door.

Her heart sank into her twisting stomach. "You're going out?"

Just as the night before, his teeth were a white flash in the darkness, the only clear detail. "You're not the only person I came to see." Her face went white under the cruelty of that blow. She hoped the darkness hid her as well as it was hiding him, but he was already gone.

Scarlett lay awake for hours, trying to tell herself she was not listening for the sound of the front door latch or Indian-light footfalls on the stairs. She always had trouble sleeping these days. As the night lengthened, heartache crystallized into anger. Eagerness for his return turned to bile in her throat. How could he? He was a liar! Dignity and respectability were not to be found out _there_ in the middle of the night. He was a cad and a blackguard.

He was not at breakfast.

Ella, peering into her mother's dark face, was unusually still and quiet. Wade stabbed at his side meat with vicious accuracy.

"Did you make him leave again?"

"Don't slouch Ella. Wade, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Where's Uncle Rhett?"

Scarlett's mouth was dry. "He had some business to take care of."

"So he left again." Wade's eyes were hurt as he laid his fork down. "I don't—"

"He hasn't left, for heaven's sake Wade." Scarlett snapped. "He'll be home."

"When?"

"Oh - later. He'll be home later. Finish your breakfast."

Wade ignored her and stood up. "You said that for three months, _Mother_."

"Wade Hampton, sit down and finish your breakfast!"

"I'm not hungry."

Scarlett stared at this stranger, her son, whom she could no longer bully into obedience. She calculated that she would be more the loser in an out-and-out argument over a small plate of breakfast, and let him go. Ella gobbled her remaining breakfast and after a timid request to be excused, stumbled over her own feet in her hurry to leave the room.

Scarlett took her frustration downtown to the store. She stormed through the sales floor, snapping with disproportionate temper about low stock and disorganized shelving, and shut herself back in her office. Figures just swam in front of her eyes so she abandoned her attempt to work through the payroll. The Daily Herald had been left on her desk and she snapped it open briskly. She had gone through the paper with unseeing eyes twice before the small-set advertisement jumped out at her. The Young Men's Library Association was giving a New Year's Ball. Six years after its founding, the Association had yet to build its library, and the five dollar tickets would bring in much-needed funds.

Scarlett was torn. She hated him today, this morning, hated him in his absence and what it meant. Was this his life the last three months? She had pictured Rhett in Charleston, with his mother - an unclear image, as the only time she had met her mother-in-law had been in that horrible, angry, hurting time after Bonnie's death, and she did not have clear memories of anything other than the battering pain of those days. She had had equally cloudy pictures of him abroad, in indistinct foreign cities that were all the same to her untraveled mind. She had pictured him alone. But she remembered his acid words from years ago - " _Fortunately the world is full of beds — and most of the beds are full of women."_ If he had gone back - she swallowed hard around a sudden lump in her throat - back to Belle Watling's bed in Atlanta, had he been in other beds with other women out in that world?

Scarlett wanted to hate him, desperately tried to stoke anger into something more lasting, but her indomitable heart had risen valiantly with his return and refused to sink. It didn't matter what Rhett had done, for he was home now. It wouldn't matter, if she could just make him stay long enough to make him love her again. A ball would be perfect. She could turn all her charm on him at a ball - if he wanted to keep gossip down, in public, he would have to stay by her side, to appear as a happy couple.

She needed to be home when he returned. The day was only half over, but she hustled from the store, stunning her employees with the abrupt reversal in temperament as she made warm farewells. Her anger was already fading with the exhilarating rush of purpose that came of having a plan, at last.

The house was empty. She learned from Prissy that Rhett and Wade had gone out with the new pony, then collected Ella to go for ice cream. So he had returned, at some point. In her bedroom, Scarlett let down her hair and repinned it. She spritzed the heavy coif with perfume and added a small swipe of rouge to her cheeks. The house stayed quiet. She went into her dressing room and started scanning dresses. What would she wear to a ball? Something stunning, to impress Rhett, demure enough to earn his respect, something he wouldn't find cheap or trashy as she knew he denigrated so much of her taste. She pushed aside silks and velvets, until she found in the back an older gown made up during their honeymoon in New Orleans. Rhett had chosen the fabric and dictated the style. She held the bodice against her, tugging at it, evaluating the fit. Despite her shrunken appetite of late, it would probably still be too tight. She hadn't worn it since before she had carried Bonnie.

Scarlett tossed the dress over a chair in her bedroom so she would remember to ask Hattie to work on it. Moving back to stand behind her vanity, she pressed her hands flat to her abdomen, circled them around her waist. She was still trim, although at present she felt that had more to do with not eating well than possessing a youthful figure. She eyed herself critically. Surely, she was still desirable? She felt so old, some days, exhausted and worn out. But her skin was still smooth, white and almost wholly unwrinkled except for the finest lines near her eyes. Her waist was no longer the smallest in three counties but it was smaller than that of any other matron she knew, if not as small as a girl's. Her hair was dark, heavy and unspoiled by any touch of grey. Yes, she decided with satisfaction, she still had charm enough to catch a man, even one so stubborn and difficult as Rhett Butler.

A tumult of excited voices and the thud of the heavy front door closing startled her out of her reverie. Rhett's smooth drawl, indistinctly overlaying the high noises of childish excitement tumbled her back into anger. Out all night with whores, and then he takes her children on an outing! And he had accused _her_ of associating with trash.

She swept from the room in a billowing, rustling cloud of dark grey skirts. She had not been bold enough to cast off mourning completely yet, not out in public. She passed Wade and Ella on the stairs as they retreated to the nursery with Prissy to wash up. Ella's open face lit briefly in a smile that died almost immediately at the sight of her mother's rigid expression. Wade rolled his eyes. Scarlett hardly noticed them.

She drew up in front of Rhett, throwing her shoulders back. "If you want to take my children out in public, I'll thank you to keep your activities respectable. I don't need them smeared with the same tar you're dipping back into."

Rhett's dark eyebrows rose into smooth ovals. His relaxed posture was a studied contrast to the angry tension vibrating through Scarlett. "Oh? Since when do you care about public opinion, least of all as it concerns Wade and Ella?"

"You've been gone," she replied harshly. "What do you know what I care about anymore? You're not the only one who can - who can change his spots. You have no idea what we've been doing in Atlanta, Rhett, and don't pretend you care. But I _do_ , and they are _my_ children. If you're going back into dirt, you can go alone."

She paused, breathing heavily and with difficulty against the constriction of her corset. "Why come back to keep the gossip down if you're just going to go back to your whore?" she spat at last.

Rhett's easy, bland expression hardened and, straightening up, he clamped a cruel hand on her arm. She tugged against it. "Let go of me."

His breath was hot across her mouth as he leaned over her, his grip tightening hard enough to bruise. "If you don't approve of my activities Scarlett, you can rid yourself of me quite easily. I've offered you an out twice before. Take it."

"Divorce? Never, Rhett Butler. If you think I'll let you drag us through the mud like that—"

"It's so touching that you care about your children at last, my dear," he replied, shaking her. "But let _me_ go."

She wrenched her arm from him and fought the urge to rub the soreness left by his punishing grasp. "No."

The fire that had animated Rhett for a brief minute extinguished abruptly. His shoulders relaxed again and his face smoothed out any expression. "All right, Scarlett. What are you planning?"

"Wh - oh - well, Rhett," she began haltingly, tempted to deny it. How did he read her so well? "there _is_ a ball on New Year's Eve - it's a fundraiser for the Library Association - you know how Melly helped them - and, well, if you, that is, if you were planning on staying that long..."

Rhett shrugged, but made no answer.

"Do you - will you stay that long, Rhett?"

He lifted his head and looked up the long, dimly lit staircase. "I will stay that long," he replied flatly.

Reflexively, distracted, Scarlett's hand moved now to rub the increasingly sore spot on her arm. "And—" she began, but her courage failed her. Rhett already had all the power here, the power over her heart that he had never trusted her enough to bestow himself. She couldn't trust him either, now, and her throat tightened against the plea to stay home. She would not beg, and she would not bare any more of herself and her heart than she had to to this cool, brutal, indifferent man.

His eyes were black and lifeless when they dropped to hers. "And I'll stay home until then."

* * *

 _Thank you to everyone who has left a review/followed/favorited! I finished my redline edits of the text last night. Those are on paper so I'm not going to suddenly drop the rest of the story on here - I have to pick up those edits first, and actually still write the very last chapter - but to celebrate I am posting this chapter._


	6. Chapter 6

_Atlanta, Georgia, December 1873_

The Sunday after Christmas, Scarlett woke with panic beating stiff wings in her breast. With the constant tension and seesawing highs and lows that had so far characterised Rhett's return, she had forgotten completely about Sunday supper with Ashley and Beau. Somehow she would have to navigate supper with both Rhett and Ashley. Well, she thought. It would be an opportunity to show Rhett truly how so much had changed; how much _she_ had changed. Why, she wouldn't even let her eyes meet those of Ashley if she could help it.

True to his word from Friday, Rhett had not gone out and had no reaction that Scarlett could read to the announcement of Sunday supper plans. His eyes remained black and blank, his voice blandly urbane, his demeanor at mealtimes smooth and polite, not exceeding the strict boundaries or stiff control he had adopted since that single intense confrontation on Christmas Day night. He had spent the past 36 hours playing the part of the attentive and devoted stepfather, though a diffident and distant husband. Scarlett dressed with care for supper. Her nerves were taut with the tension of this role - to appear attractive and appealing to Rhett without leading him to think she had dressed with Ashley in mind!

She hung back when the Wilkeses arrived, letting the children greet their cousin and uncle, avoiding Ashley - avoiding his usual greeting, the cold kiss on her cheek - while Rhett and Ashley shook hands with tense muscles straining under their jackets. She led the group into the dining room, rushing ahead of everyone else with tiny quick steps.

Rhett was in his place at the foot of the table and as she looked down the long surface, she had to blink away the tears that stung the corners of her eyes. This was how life should have been these last months, except that Rhett wouldn't meet her gaze. He made light, polite conversation with Ashley. Rhett expertly deflected any questions of his recent activities and steered the conversation instead around more distant exploits, sharing stories they had certainly all heard before. Scarlett picked at her food and made an effort to ignore Ella's fidgeting while Rhett and Ashley moved on to talk politics. At length, the conversation came around to the economy, commiserating on the difficulties of doing business since the panic on Wall Street and the recession.

"Business is light at the lumber mill, but we're managing," Ashley said. "We just made the final delivery on a large order for the Venables' new house."

"That's good to hear -" Rhett began, but Scarlett jumped in.

"Is the Venable account paid up yet? I noticed—" she stopped, not wanting Rhett to know how involved she was in Ashley's business. "I mean, I—"

Ashley's interruption saved her somewhat. "Not yet, Scarlett, but I'm sure—"

"Ashley!" she cried. "You shouldn't be selling lumber on credit - not now of all times."

Rhett's reply was voiced low. "Still sticking your finger in other people's pies, my pet?"

She gaped at him a moment, choking with anger. It registered dimly that Wade had choked back a laugh and she let the rage sweep through her, redirected it to her defiant son. "Wade Hampton, you're excused," she snapped. His soft brown eyes went cold and he stood abruptly.

"Yes, Mother."

As Wade stomped from the room the other children were still and stone-faced.

"Ella, why don't you take Beau and go look at your new toys with Wade," Rhett said smoothly. Ella's chair wobbled unsteadily on its back legs in her rush to leave the room, with Beau at her heels.

Scarlett could feel her cheeks getting hot. Ashley was looking down at his plate, avoiding the eyes of his hosts. Embarrassed but angry, she plunged ahead.

"Have you at least got that order from Bullard's?" she asked, setting down her silverware with precise movements.

Ashley sipped his wine and turned his head toward her, but his eyes were focused somewhere past her shoulder. "They've decided not to move forward with the expansion after all. It makes no sense right now—"

"Who cares if it makes sense! Ashley you needed that contract - and if the Venables aren't paying on time—"

"We aren't doing that poorly, Scarlett, you know that well enough."

Scarlett choked, and her eyes leapt reflexively to Rhett. He was lounging at the far end of the table, and she thought she saw a bright glimmer of some interest in his eyes for all that his posture was relaxed as Caesar at a banquet. Oh, let him think what he would, anyway!

"You are not doing that well, Ashley. You could barely make payroll last month already - without a payment, what funds do you have? I know what your books look like - none! You don't have the cash ready to pay those workers you insist on keeping, even when they are more people than you need. Ashley you might not care what happens to you - you're ready to follow Melanie into the grave, don't I know it - but you have to think of Beau!"

Ashley's face had gone white with strain. She heard the soft whistle of chair legs gliding over the thick carpet and she turned her head to see Rhett standing behind his place.

"My dear, I'm tired of this coarse conversation. Mr. Wilkes, would you care for a cigar?"

Ashley inclined his tarnished head as he rose. "Thank you, Captain Butler, but no. It's getting late and we've left my sister at home alone. I'll just collect Beau and we'll be on our way."

Scarlett rose silently as Ashley made his way out of the room. He paused by Rhett and the two men shook hands. "Thank you for the meal, Captain Butler. It's good to see you back in Atlanta."

Rhett's smile was tight. "Always good to be home," he replied through gritted teeth.

When the heavy front door closed behind Ashley and Beau, the house was quiet. Rhett and Scarlett stood still, facing each other like duelists from opposite ends of the long table. His glance was light and impersonal as he took in her clenched fists on the tabletop and the flush high in her cheekbones. He cocked one eyebrow, silently daring her to be the first to speak.

Patience was a skill that Scarlett had not fully mastered. "Rhett," she burst out, "Ashley - he's just such a poor manager - he's going to lose the mills."

Patience being something Rhett possessed in seemingly infinite quantities, he struck a match to light a cigar and made no answer.

"We - I can't let that happen, Rhett! I promised Melanie. You know I did. I don't care at all - truly, I wish I had let him take that bank job in New York years ago - only that I promised Melly I'd take care of him now. And I don't know what else to do."

Rhett took a draw from the cigar and exhaled it slowly. Always Ashley. Even now. He didn't care - hell, she was welcome to Ashley, and he to her, if she would just take the damn divorce and let him go. But the passion in her efforts to protect this other man, the ghost that had shadowed his entire marriage, still sparked something within him, some primitive male obstinacy. It could not be jealousy. He had scrubbed himself clean of that. "That was your promise Scarlett, not mine."

Her skirts rustled as she flew down the table to his side. "Rhett, please—" she began, reaching for his free hand. Her cool fingers stung his wrist. He tossed the cigar on his dinner plate and, grabbing her shoulders, shook her.

"Why do you always throw lifelines to Ashley Wilkes when you would gladly have left me to the sharks?" He shoved her away from him, leaving his cigar smoldering in the remains of the cream sauce, and stormed upstairs.

…

They passed like strangers in the house. Even at meals, they spoke in turn to the children, but never to each other. Scarlett refugeed in the store during the day, and retired to her room early. The second night, she couldn't sleep. The tension ate at her every moment. The things she desired, but did not have; the coldness in Rhett's voice; the lack of reconciliation. She lay awake, berating herself for her own missteps, her lapses into temper and tears. She needed to smooth down the edges of her frazzled nerves.

In her warmest, green wrapper, Scarlett crept quietly down the dark staircase. She stopped in the hall, remembering another night, and wished for the glow of light from the dining room that had stopped her and frightened her those years ago. But there was no light from under the door, and it did not swing open until she crossed the hallway and pushed her own way in.

Scarlett paused on the threshold to let her eyes adjust to the cold brightness of the moonlight. When she could see clearly, she went to the brandy decanter on the side table and poured herself a stiff measure of drink. Alone, with no witnesses, she tossed it back in the unladylike, practiced manner she had learned by imitating Gerald. She pulled a chair under the wide window and, pouring another glass, curled up on it with her feet on the stretcher. She should take the bottle and retreat to the safety of her bedroom. What if Rhett showed up? But - _what if_ Rhett showed up?

She nursed the second glass, her head resting uncomfortably on the carved chair back. She evaluated, numbly, the many failings of his homecoming so far. She had snapped at everyone - at Rhett, the children, Ashley. She had nagged him about that creature, someone whose existence a real lady shouldn't even acknowledge. She had made clumsy advances and been rebuffed. There was still the ball - but it was hard to maintain hope that anything good could come of that. He was cold and distant, and it threw her into such confusion that she hadn't even been able to control her temper so far.

She didn't hear any footsteps, but the clinking of coins startled her from her melancholy reverie. She sat up and turned to find Rhett at the window, just outside the spill of light.

"What's this, Scarlett?" His arm extended, and a small bag spun on its strings from his hand, twisting slowly in the moonlight.

With a shaking hand she set her glass down on the wide sill, brandy leaping messily over the sides. "That's mine. Give it to me," she answered, standing and reaching for the pouch.

He lifted his hand out of her reach but stepped forward into the light. With a light flick of his wrist he flipped the bag up into his palm and tossed it gently.

"What was it doing in the cushions of my chair?"

She hoped the moonlight was not bright enough for him to read her face, for she could feel the heat of a rising blush. Let that join the embarrassing tally of her failures, this cursed sensitivity in every interaction with him. Defiantly, she raised her chin and held her tongue.

The whites of his eyes reflected the moonlight as he turned his head from her to his palm, and back again. His voice was astonishingly gentle when he spoke again. "Why are you hiding money in the furniture? This isn't one of your reticules. It didn't slip down there on accident. And," his left hand extended now too, "it's the second one I found. This was behind Dickens in the library. Surely you haven't started reading novels."

Scarlett crossed her arms, resisting the urge to reach out and snatch the bags from him. "It's none of your business, Rhett."

"I'm making it my business, Scarlett."

"Why? What do you care?"

He placed the small bags of coins on the sill with her brandy glass. He was close to her now, so close that a single deep breath would make their bodies brush, but his hands went casually into his coat pockets. He shrugged.

"I don't. I'm just - curious."

That stung. She squared her shoulders and lifted her jutting chin. "I don't see any need to satisfy your curiosity. You haven't been curious enough to come home in three months, why should you need to know anything now?"

"We have money in the bank, Scarlett."

"We do now," she bit out, "but tomorrow is another matter."

"My pet, I own most of our bank. Your money's safe, Scarlett." His mouth twisted bitterly. "Or do you still not have enough?"

 _I would give away every cent to have you love me again_ , she thought, and remained silent.

Rhett's hand was unexpectedly gentle under her chin as he lifted her face and turned it into the moonlight.

"I don't trust them!" Scarlett pulled away. Her words came out jumbled. "The panic - they've failed - I've worked too hard, Rhett. I can't lose it -" her thoughts flew too fast for her to grasp and the swirl of memories, emotions, and possibilities panicked her. Being hungry, being poor, not being able to feed her children or give them warm clothes, having her family at her heels again, needing, always needing to be provided for. Her hands fluttered as if trying to grasp the whirlwind. They settled on Rhett's chest and she clutched his lapels desperately, as if he were the only thing that could keep her upright.

After a moment, she felt his arms around her, gently pressing her closer. She turned her head, letting him press her cheek to his chest with his wide palm over her hair. She whispered, throatily incoherent, "Wade didn't even have shoes - our money was worthless - I don't want to go through that again, I don't want them go through that, the government could take it all—"

"Shhh," Rhett soothed her. "Scarlett, your money is safe. Our bank isn't going to fail. And my own investments number more than one oversold railroad. You won't have to face poverty again, nor Wade nor Ella. Scarlett," he said, and she could feel the quiet chuckle rumbling in his chest, "you don't have to stash gold around the house."

He was laughing at her, but with his arms around her again at last Scarlett didn't mind. She unclenched her hands and flattened her palms on his warm chest. He was still somewhat thicker around the middle, carrying the legacy of his dissolution after Bonnie's death, but his strength and size were a comforting buffer against her fears. She daren't move, and barely breathed, and wished for this moment to go on forever. He hadn't held her in so very long. As embarrassment and fear receded in his embrace, she felt a tide of warmth spreading through her body, raising her flesh in goose pimples and curling her toes. It was the beginning wave of forgotten feeling, unfamiliar yet utterly known.

She turned her head just a fraction back into his chest, filling her lungs with his familiar smells. In just her nightclothes and wrapper, with no corset restricting her, she could breathe deeply. Her breasts brushed his ribs. Scarlett felt him stiffen, his relaxed arms around her back turning to iron. She held her breath. _Please, Rhett_ , she began, but could not finish the thought.

Her hair stirred as if his hand passed over it, then he was dropping his arms and stepping away. Her heart thudded, but the blackness in his face stopped any movement she might have wished to make.

"Your money is safe, my dear. Keep it in the bank."

Then he turned and was gone. The night air felt suddenly cold around her. She abandoned her brandy glass - but not the two small bags of coins - and fled to her empty room.

…

By New Year's Eve, just three days later, Scarlett was sure she hadn't exchanged even another dozen words with Rhett. Once at breakfast, and once at dinner, he had wordlessly dropped another bag found from her hidden stashes of money into her lap. She had collected all four in a drawer in her room. She had not decided whether or not to retrieve any of the others.

Sitting in front of her mirror, dressed and coiffed for the ball, she pulled the pouches out and lined them up in a row across the vanity. These little purses had concrete meaning for her. Security. Safety. Resources no capricious government could take at the behest of incomprehensible political whims. Funds that were not at the mercy of a bank. Scarlett would not put her trust in marble institutions; she could only trust herself and her own determination.

And Rhett? She had realized too late the trust she placed in him; realized it only to have it ripped away. _Your money is safe, my dear._ Could she trust him now? Again, or still? He had left, but he had come back. He had come back, but he would not say for how long. She thought of the dark road between Atlanta and Rough and Ready, and the long journey home to Tara that she had driven alone. They had reached Tara through her stubborn efforts alone, after Rhett had left them in the darkness. She had, in September, come to attribute noble motives to him - but that did not undo the deed.

She touched each velvet bag, pressing her fingers into the soft fabric until she felt the hard edges of the coins inside. She thought of Rhett, probably in his room across the hall. Would he be there in a week? Her heart inscribed a slow somersault in her chest as she allowed herself to wonder, would he be closer?

Scarlett's hands were steady as she tipped out each bag onto the polished vanity surface. She picked up a small, plain black valise placed next to her on the floor, and slid the coins into it with a sweep of her arm. It was the bag she used to carry payrolls and deposits between the store and the bank. In the morning, she would find her other hiding places and collect the money.

She clicked the clasp on the bag, and the sound was echoed by a soft knock at the door. Scarlett set the valise down again and raised her eyes to her reflection. Her clear green eyes were bright, her cheeks naturally flushed. She felt youthful, and hopeful.

"Come in," she called.

The elaborately carved door swung soundlessly open. Rhett stood in the doorway, his big shoulders nearly reaching both sides of the frame. The intensity of his presence took her breath away. In his crisp, black and white formal wear he still exuded predatory instinct, the civilized trappings doing nothing to disguise the hardness of muscles seemingly always tensed to strike. His clothes were well-tailored, not too tight around the middle, camouflaging the extra weight that still lingered there. He looked so much like the younger man from that night of their second meeting, physically more like the powerful and poised blockade runner than the broken, childless father who had lived with her earlier this year.

His black eyes were still disconcertingly blank, and dull. She watched hungrily for some sign of life, a gleam of his old watchfulness, a flicker of feeling. If there was anything there for her, he hid it too well.

Scarlett's own tilted eyes gleamed in the gaslight. Rhett remembered her green dress, could see clearly in his mind his own hands paging through fabric samples at a dressmaker's shop in New Orleans, crowded in by dress forms and full skirts. He missed a breath as he was drawn, just for a moment, back to that heady honeymoon, and all the promise of his new bride in his arms.

Then his mouth turned down at the corner. "Mrs. Butler," he said.

She rose, and her skirts draped elegantly around her. He focused his thoughts deliberately on the present, gathering his detachment around him like a shield. His chest clenched around his pounding heart until it slowed.

She was still his wife, but no longer his bride. Those hopeful moments were in the past, ground into dirt under her careless heels. And he was too old for hope, too worn out for repairs.

She did not take her eyes off him as she crossed the room to take his arm. Her brows and the corners of her lush mouth were lifted slightly, an almost hopeful or waiting expression. He wrapped her small fingers around his coat sleeve, and led her out without a word.

The ballroom at the Kimball House was beautifully festive, elaborately decorated with poinsettia blossoms forming red and green friezes along all four walls and joined with white hyacinths to make centerpieces at the tables set for eight. In one corner, a bower of palms and ferns hid a string orchestra that played through dinner. The purchase of tickets by the Butlers had thrown the organizing committee into a tizzy over the question of where to seat them. In the end, the seating arrangement was decided by those who were known to be on friendly terms with Captain Butler, and had fewer reasons than some to despise Scarlett. No one could be said to be her friend, but with her demure appearances in their homes over the recent months and her visible grief for Melanie, some of the hot animosity towards her had cooled. Nor had anyone forgotten how Melanie had practically campaigned for her not that many years before, pushing Scarlett back into the social circle from which they could not quite eject her now. They would not go so far as to call on her at home, but could endure for one night being forced to dine at the same table.

The tide of sympathy for Rhett was still strong, especially amongst the old matrons. Having risen at last from the pit of alcoholism that had buried him after Bonnie's death, he was no longer rude, but formally polite. Scarlett, hanging on his arm and his every word, saw the old gleam of mockery in his eyes as these dour old dowagers clucked over him with sympathetic concern. But he kept his speech civil, restraining himself much as he had in the early days of the war, before his true contempt had made itself known. For a moment she was bitterly jealous that Rhett had somehow gained and kept everyone's favor, while she, Scarlett, was still an outcast. Not turned away, but not welcomed.

When the Butlers found their table, the reception was strained. They joined three other couples, the Picards, the Elsings, and the Bonnells. René clapped Rhett soundly on the back, and Hugh and Andy greeted both him and Scarlett warmly. Mrs. Elsing and Mrs. Bonnell were reserved to Scarlett, but not cold. But Maybelle - they stared at each other, remembering the scene in Scarlett's store. She hadn't seen Maybelle since then, had avoided her calling hours and not crossed paths with her in any other home.

"Captain Butler, it eez wonderful to see you in Atlanta!" Said René with real warmth. "A wife so pretty as yours must 'ave an escort to a party as wonderful as this!"

Maybelle's glare moved to her husband and she laid a possessive, restraining hand on his arm. Scarlett sniffed.

"Business interests kept me abroad," replied Rhett smoothly. "But the children would never forgive me if I missed Christmas."

Hugh looked over Scarlett before turning to Rhett. "How long are you in town then, Rhett?"

Rhett shrugged. "I don't know, Hugh. With the current market, business has been unpredictable. I don't know when I could be called away."

Scarlett stared at her husband. Business! What business couldn't be handled from Atlanta, as he had been during for years? He hadn't gone away on "business," real or otherwise, in years - not since Bonnie - but of course that was it. There was no Bonnie to keep him here. She reached for her champagne flute and took a long sip. She might only have tonight to make him see there were other reasons to stay at home.

"I must say, Rhett, I do miss the quality of your liquor cabinet!" said Andy Bonnell, and the men laughed. Their wives looked fondly indulgent. Even Maybelle's sour expression was softening.

"And those Cuban cigars," added Hugh. With a flashing white grin, Rhett pulled his cigar case from a jacket pocket and passed it around.

"We shall have to find a moment to step outside and enjoy these, then," he replied, repocketing the case. Without a glance at Scarlett, he continued, "How's your work at the store, Hugh? Has my wife kept busy looking over your shoulder?"

Scarlett stiffened and shot Rhett a cold look, but Hugh answered kindly. "Only as much as needs must, Rhett. Business hasn't been great, of course, but we think things are picking up."

"And mah pies!" cried René. "Ze people are craving sweets to take zehr mind off zehr troubles."

"Still driving that rickety old wagon, Mr. Picard? However do you manage to keep the wheels on?"

"Mah wagon, she eez strong and splendid, Captain Butler. You wish you had so fine a carriage as ze one ze pies ride in!"

"I'd rather have such a fine pie," replied Rhett, inclining his head graciously towards Maybelle. She nodded stiffly in return. "Does your mother still make that delicious lemon cream, Mrs. Picard?"

"Yes, Captain Butler. Every week."

"You'll have to send one over to us, then. Make sure this lout drives it over, then we can see how his wagon holds up!"

The group around the table laughed. It was just conversation, easygoing words, but Scarlett's stomach fluttered. Rhett had previously said he would stay until this party - did this mean he would stay longer? She sipped her champagne again, hoping it would calm her restless nerves. Scarlett smiled tentatively at Sarah Bonnell, seated to her left. Her son, Frank, was Wade's age. They didn't play together - well, Wade didn't seem to play with anyone outside of school other than Beau Wilkes - hadn't that caused trouble once? She recollected vaguely a scene at home over some silly boy's birthday party. Yes, that was just before Rhett began trying to wash the spots off his Scallawag hide for Bonnie...Scarlett's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

After Bonnie's death, she had realized how much she missed her old friends, missed the people who had been through the War with her, suffered the same deprivations and hardships. Lived through the things that her wealthy carpetbagger associates had not. The Bonnells, Elsings, and Picards, these were her people - and Wade's and Ella's for that matter. They were Wade's father's old friends, Charlie's childhood playmates and teenage sweethearts. Her son belonged with these people. She had drifted away from the new people in the months since Bonnie's death, and made her awkward, stilted calls on the Old Guard, but what did her children have? They still came home alone every day, and went only to the Wilkeses, played only with Beau. Did Ella even have any girlfriends?

Scarlett's smile warmed, deepening her dimples as she consciously drew up her charm like a weapon.

"Sarah," she asked quietly, "how is your little Frank?"

Sarah Bonnell smiled back at Scarlett, almost as warmly. "Frank's well, Scarlett. A little sad that Christmas came and went so quickly. I'm sure Wade is the same?"

Scarlett nodded, although of course she had no idea now Wade felt about anything. Except her, and she couldn't talk about that!

"Oh, of course. He -" what was there to say about her son? Scarlett didn't know how to talk to another woman about children any more than she knew how to talk directly to said children. "He's had his head buried in new books for days, hardly says a word to anyone." That was at least partially true, for he never had a word for Scarlett. But at least it sounded like a boy who was just excited about new books, not an angry child keeping quiet out of spite.

"Frankie's just the same," said Sarah, leaning closer to Scarlett as she warmed to the topic of children. "We can hardly get him to set a new book down to eat! I didn't know Wade was such a voracious reader."

 _A what?_ Scarlett stared at her, a bit stupefied. _Why would you know anything about Wade?_ she thought. _Have you even met him? He's never been welcomed to your house!_ "Why, yes," she managed to reply sweetly. "He's just like his father that way." _As far as I know_. She'd never really known her first husband. It was a good reminder to give, that her boy was a Hamilton, from as old and respectable a family as anyone in Atlanta. As long as they didn't remember or dwell too long on how quickly she had given up the habit of mourning for him. She glanced at Rhett - he had done that for her. Oh, it had hurt her reputation at the time, and certainly that hadn't helped her in more recent years, but what a relief it had been to escape that prison of womanly solitude! She wouldn't go back and change that, even if it had been the first brick in the wall cutting her off from society.

Once the silence had been broken, the dinner passed more swiftly. Her conversations stumbled along more than Rhett's, with many awkward pauses as she navigated the landmines of social discourse, the reminiscences that would bring up too many things she had done wrong or been misjudged for. Even Maybelle, speaking across Andy Bonnell, joined them when the topic of the store came up. She repeated the compliment she had made to her mother, that Scarlett had done well with it, and Scarlett decided to take it as an apology for the other things Maybelle had said that day, unaware that her subject had been within hearing.

After the dessert plates had been scraped clean of the crumbs from an elegant Charlotte Russe and cleared from the table by liveried waiters, the party moved into the ballroom. With handshakes and airy kisses against soft cheeks, they parted from their table group. Rhett's arm was warm and solid under Scarlett's fingers as he led her into the ballroom, elegantly trimmed in poinsettias to match the dining room. Her cheeks were pink and her steps felt lighter than air. The two glasses of effervescent champagne with dinner seemed to sparkle through her veins, tickling her even in her fingertips and toes. And now there would be dancing! She hadn't danced in so long, hadn't hosted a party nor been invited to one in what felt like forever.

And there would be dancing with Rhett. There was no one else here tonight that she wanted to be close to, no one else she would let take her in his arms. She smiled up at him with honest happiness, and thrilled to see an answering grin that was not mocking, that even crinkled the corners of his eyes as if he, too, felt genuinely happy. It must be a good sign for the new year. She didn't care if it wasn't proper for husbands and wives to dance together - she would not partner any other man. Unless, she thought with a smile that deepened her dimples, he wouldn't dance with _her_. Not even for Rhett would she miss out on dancing all night.

In the quadrille, she admired Rhett's elegants steps with pride as he took his turns through the movements. He towered over the other dancers and was more graceful than all of them. She felt a little thrill every time he returned to her side and took her hand in his.

"Do you remember our first dance?" she asked quietly, looking up at him from under sooty lashes as he drew her close for the first waltz of the evening.

"The scandalous reel?"

"Yes. Thank you for that."

"For a dance?"

"You know it was more than that, Rhett. I was so unhappy, there was nothing but the hospital and Aunt Pitty's house, and everyone around me could go dancing and courting and I had to stay inside. I'd even been in trouble with Aunt Pitty that day because I was waving out the window while all the other girls and soldiers went out to pick flowers for the decorations. Melly and I only got to be there at that booth because the McLure girls left town when Dallas was wounded, and - oh! I just remembered." She squeezed Rhett's hand, her eyes sparkling with mirth as the details of that day came back to her. "Mrs. Merriwether had really only come by to get Melly and Aunt Pitty! But I told Melly, why of course _we_ ought to go, and when Melly started to waver, Mrs. Merriwether had no choice but to accept me along with her. And then I went and danced! No wonder she wrote to Mother after that," Scarlett finished with a slight pout.

"Ah," Rhett said, looking down at her with an answering smile. "So is that why I had to get your father drunk and win his money? Because he was sent to town to collect the wayward daughter?"

"You know that's so, he went out to look for you - and you brought him home drunk as the day is long, trying to teach you Irish songs."

"And insulting me."

"It was no more than you deserved, I'm sure."

Rhett's laugh was deep and rich, and Scarlett stepped in close to him, lost in memories that turned melancholy as she thought of how much time she had wasted since that summer day 11 years ago. Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she dropped her eyes and studied his jaw line, which was firm and strong again, not puffy with waste. Had he fallen in love with her that night? She was too afraid to ask.

Her steps flagged as the weight of missed opportunities weighed her down. Always able to read her too well, Rhett led her from the floor as the waltz ended. At the refreshment table, he took two glasses of champagne and handed one to her. He lifted his glass to her and she delicately touched the lip of her own to his.

"To dancing," he toasted, his voice a low rumble that barely reached her ears. Yes, she thought, to dancing! And her spirits rose as they sipped champagne, until her toes were tapping again and she was eager to get back on the floor - eager to be back in his arms, for he kept his free hand carefully behind his back as they stood side by side.

There were more waltzes, and quadrilles and polkas, and her feet flew until they were sore but when Rhett tried to lead her back to the refreshments she slipped from his arms and skittered teasingly out of his reach so that he had to claim her again. And if he did not clasp her so tightly as he had that first long-ago night of dancing, she was too enthralled to notice. For the New Year's toast, they raised another glass of champagne with the rest of the crowd. Scarlett swayed towards him as he kissed her softly, surrounded by other couples and nearly deafened by the sound of noisemakers and fireworks filling the streets outside of the hotel. The night seemed nearly perfect.

The room was almost empty when the orchestra started to play the last waltz. Rhett and Scarlett were ill bred enough to remain to dance the last set. She tossed her head and tilted it back defiantly as another couple left the floor, smiling up at Rhett as they covered the almost empty floor with sweeping steps.

"You sing much prettier than your father, I remember that about our first waltz."

""When This Cruel War Is Over,"" she said, softly.

"Sing this one for me," he replied just as low.

The waltz was "Lorena," the song Ella had been named for. It was now so empty in the ballroom that she worried the remaining dancers would be able to hear; but she decided she didn't care. If Rhett thought her a pretty singer, she would sing for him with any audience. She hummed along as Rhett twirled her once. Pressed close to him again, her green eyes luminous as they held his gaze, she waited for the music to come around to the start of a verse, and began to sing,

 _A hundred months have passed, Lorena,_

 _Since last I held that hand in mine,_

 _And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena,_

 _Though mine beat faster far than thine._

 _A hundred months, 'twas flowery May,_

 _When up the hilly slope we climbed,_

 _To watch the dying of the day,_

 _And hear the distant church bells chime._

 _We loved each other then, Lorena,_

 _Far more than we ever dared to tell;_

 _And what we might have been, Lorena,_

 _Had but our loving prospered well -_

Her voice faltered and her fingers clenched, her nails pricking the back of Rhett's hand and shoulder. They came to a stop at the edge of the dance floor and stood still. His breath caressed her forehead and their combined body heat filled the space between them.

"Let's go home, Scarlett."

She picked her way carefully down the stairs and out of the hotel, her sore feet protesting painfully now that there was no music to distract her. She wished she had taken another glass of champagne.

In the carriage, they sat together without touching. Rhett took up so much space, even in the expensively large carriage, that his nearness dominated her senses. Scarlett peeked at him from underneath her lashes, and caught her lower lip in her teeth as she tried to bend her mind to the unaccustomed task of reading another person. His hard face remained impenetrably blank.

When the carriage stopped in front of the house on Peachtree Street, Rhett exited first and then turned to help his wife step down. Scarlett's hand in his, then resting on his arm as they went up the veranda steps, was warm even through her glove. They paused in the foyer to remove hats, gloves, and coats. He draped his heavy jacket over Pork's arm.

"Thank you Pork. I'll do for myself tonight, go on to bed."

The aging servant bowed stiffly and, with Scarlett's paletot laid on top of the jacket, took his leave. Rhett turned to his wife.

"Goodnight, my dear."

He was eager to retreat to his bedroom. His neck was stiff and a headache had started to throb at his temples. He had been holding himself too tensely for hours. He wanted a drink. He wanted sleep, or oblivion. Whichever it took.

Rhett turned to the stairs, and was stopped with one foot on the bottom step when Scarlett's bare hand grabbed his elbow.

"Rhett?"

He paused, and turned his head slightly until he saw her out of her corner of his eye.

"Thank you. I had such a wonderful time tonight." Scarlett stopped, as if waiting for him to reciprocate. He waited, too.

"Oh. Well. Thank you," she repeated. "Did you?"

His breath released in a forceful exhale that was almost a sigh. He stepped back and turned toward her. "Yes, I did."

Scarlett released his arm and clasped her hands in front of herself, now twisting them agitatedly. He waited. Perhaps it was curiosity, to see what she would say, or do. The ball had been nice, after all. He truly enjoyed the company of those men they had been seated with, and their wives were more pleasant than their mothers and mothers-in-law. He enjoyed dancing with Scarlett, and always had. She was still the most beautiful dancer he'd ever held in his arms, with light, sure feet and a graceful response to his leadership. Only on the dance floor, of course. He needed to get upstairs, he couldn't stay down here with her.

"Good night," he said again. He turned back to the stairs, but not before he saw her tilted eyes widen with an unmistakable flare of panic. Her hand was on his arm again, tugging, hot, insistent. They were at the foot of the stairs, such a dangerous memory. Did he turn or had she come around to face him? He had lost his bearings even in the familiar foyer, for his eyes were closed and her mouth was soft and welcoming.

He was kissing her. Had she reached for him? He shouldn't let this happen, but her body was so warm and _alive_. Her shoulders under his palms, her collarbones under his fingertips, she was so delicate and strong and always a contradiction. Her waist was still trim despite the three children she'd borne, and the round tops of her breasts, pushed up by the corset and crushed against his chest felt so familiar. He buried his hand in the fabric of her skirt, roughly crushing the bustle, pushing it up out of the way. He held her, as much of her as he could through the multiple, awkward layers of clothing and frame, and pulled her hips up to his own. His knee caught in her skirts as he pressed his leg between hers. He felt suddenly aflame, out of control, striving for contact that he couldn't achieve with her voluminous formal wear.

Moving backwards he stumbled over the first step and they fell together, the stairs making contact that was more awkward than painful with his thighs, then his back. Scarlett was a light hot tangle of satin skin and clothing on top of him. But the hard edges of the stairs beneath him cleared the fog of desire that had swept through him so unexpectedly, and cold numbing fear doused his blood again.

What was this? Madness.

Rhett stopped kissing her, and waited for both their breathing to slow, before pushing her aside and rising swiftly back to his feet.

"My apologies, my dear. I was quite swept off my feet. Goodnight."

He charged swiftly up to his room while Scarlett remained a good long while, kneeling at the foot of the stairs.

 _Notes_

 _Mrs. Bonnell, Kitty, went to school in Savannah with Ellen Robillard (search Gutenberg for Kitty; after "Mrs. Bonnell" speaks, Mrs. Merriwether calls the speaker Kitty). In the same scene shortly after that exchange, Melanie chastises, "And your brother, Mrs. Bonnell." Now, Mrs. Bonnell would have a different maiden name, but of the names actually mentioned in the passages around the Klan raid, one is Andy Bonnell. No other Bonnell is mentioned, and again, Melanie mentions that Rhett saved the life of a brother - not a husband. It can't be a Simmons boy; there were more than one so Melanie would have said "brothers," plural. I believe that leaves Hugh Elsing as a named, saved character (we know René Picard is from Louisiana) and I don't see anything to indicate that Kitty Bonnell was related to the Elsings. I suppose Kitty's brother could be Mrs. Merriwether's unnamed nephew, but I made a different choice to see Kitty and Andy Bonnell as in-laws, and Melanie isn't belaboring the specifics of that. This means that Andy Bonnell is married to someone else._

 _Frank Bonnell seems to be of an age with Wade so it wouldn't be impossible for him to be Kitty Bonnell's son, but I'm choosing not. We also get the mention of the "Bonnell girls" being sick at the time of the bazaar during the war, and no mention of a sick baby boy at the same time. Inconclusive but there you have it._

 _Dinner dress inspiration: collection/the-collection-online/search/106988_

 _Trying the link because it's difficult to craft a reliable search term for this one. If you try "_ _metropolitan museum dinner dress 1880-1882" you should get the right dress but from Pinterest, not the direct site. Not the right date for this story but I really love it._


	7. Chapter 7

_Atlanta, Georgia, January 1874_

Rhett did not appear at the breakfast table. It would be so easy to believe he had overslept or risen early, that he was out riding, even that he had gone back to Belle Watling's house. But Scarlett never shied from the truth when she could see it, and she knew without hope that he had left again. There had been moments - one or two moments in that bare week he had been home, but nothing had changed. Even after last night - but he had mocked her with the same words he had said before.

Rhett had left her again. She looked down the table at Ella, with her sad downcast eyes, and Wade, staring at her angrily. Rhett had left them, and she couldn't hide it. Nor was it in her make-up to spin sweet lies for their ears.

"Uncle Rhett had to go away to take care of some business. He had a wonderful time at home with you both but he can't neglect his business any longer. He sends his love..." Her lies trailed off, mired in the children's morose, unresponsive silence. Damn him!

The breakfast plates were cooling rapidly before Ella spoke up. Her tremulous voice startled Scarlett out of her reverie and caused her to start in surprise and clatter her spoon against the side of her bowl.

"May I be excused, Mother?"

"Please," corrected Scarlett, automatically.

Ella actually paled under her freckles. "Please may I be excused?"

Scarlett sighed. She hadn't even spoken harshly. "Yes, Ella. You too, Wade, if you are finished."

Both children left without another word. Scarlett raised her coffee cup.

"Happy New Year," she toasted the empty room.

That night, when the children had been put to bed after another strained meal, Scarlett found herself turning the intricate bronze knob of Rhett's bedroom door.

She hadn't been in his bedroom since Bonnie's death. She hadn't ever been in his bedroom, except for the day their daughter had died. She closed her eyes as she pushed the door open. It swung soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. The things she had said - "Oh, Rhett," she whispered. She hadn't meant what she had said that day. She had never told him, never apologized. Would that have made a difference?

After she had banished him from their marital bedroom, he had at some point redone his bedroom to his own taste. Gone was the thick carpeting she had chosen for this room, replaced with an intricately patterned rug that left the gleaming wood borders of the room bare. The visible wood floor was a warm brown, lighter than the black-walnut furniture which had not been changed. The dark paper had been scraped off and the walls were now painted a light cream. A stony pain lodged in her stomach as she thought all this work must have been possible because he hadn't actually been sleeping here. He'd been sleeping at Belle Watling's house, in Belle Watling's bed.

She crossed the room at a rapid pace, and her fingers scrabbled at the wooden window frame, trying to lift it. She knelt to breathe through the narrow crack opened at the bottom, taking in fresh air as deeply as her stays would allow. Clenching her fingers around the heavy fabric, she noticed the dark drapes she had had hung in this room were now a rich blue.

When her stomach settled, Scarlett stood and closed the window. She opened the doors of the large wardrobe. There was still some clothing in it, but the mostly empty shelves clearly showed that much had been removed. In his dressing room there still hung a few robes and heavy overcoats, some older and much-worn clothes in the back, scuffed boots and beaten-in slippers on the floor. She stood in the center of the space and breathed in. The dressing room, a small, closed-up space, held his scent more strongly than the large bedroom. Cigars, whisky, horses. The smells that reminded her of Gerald, but with another layer of musk that was uniquely Rhett.

She did not close the dressing room door behind her as she passed back through to the bedroom. That tiny room needed a good airing out.

The bed was made. There were a few books left on a shelf in the far corner, which her eyes passed over without interest. The room was clearly unoccupied, and there was nothing that felt to Scarlett like it had even been lived in at all for the last week. He was gone.

She started to leave, and passing the desk on her way out of the room her eye was caught by a textured black box with a cream card on top. The items were centered on the empty desktop. Her name stood out in thick black script.

Scarlett picked up the card. She turned it over in her hands. The words "Merry Christmas" were written in the same heavy handwriting. There was no other note. She crumpled the paper and tossed it in the basket below the desk. Without any of her usual eagerness for gifts, she opened the box. The small hinge was tight, and the lid lifted with some difficulty, stubbornly resisting the inevitable reveal. Inside, a diamond necklace encircled a slightly raised velvet oval. A heart-shaped emerald surrounded by diamonds hung from the strand.

With knocking knees, Scarlett slid into the desk chair, one hand at her throat. Her mind whirled in confusion. Why had he gone to Belle's? Why had he stayed for the ball and then left so abruptly? Why had he done all those things - and still had bought this necklace? She didn't understand him! She knew she never had understood him, and the belated insight she had glimpsed that night in September did not explain this. Pride had kept him from admitting his love for fear of being rebuffed, but he knew now that she loved him - that she finally had realized she loved him. Why hadn't he given her this gift at Christmas? Why was it here, in this room - had he somehow known, or guess, that she would breach his privacy like this?

Scarlett ran her fingers lightly over the gently serrated surfaces of the diamonds and closed her eyes. She swore she felt the fine, short hairs that had escaped from her upswept coif stir as if moved by Rhett's breath. She touched her other hand to her throat, and slid her fingers to the back of her neck. She imagined Rhett clasping the gift around her neck, and her chest grew heavy as if actually weighted down by the strand and pendant.

When a warm tear tickled at the edge of her nostril, she stirred. She opened her eyes and the diamonds of the necklace shimmered through the refraction of her tears. She pushed the box back with folded arms, then put her head down and sobbed into the desk.

 _Charleston, South Carolina, January 1874_

The train carried Rhett back into Charleston on New Year's Day. The restlessness that had driven him abruptly from Atlanta had disintegrated, borne away on the familiar currents of salt air and sea.

He made his way to the house on the Battery where his mother now lived alone. The salt-scrubbed cypress boards were greying but clean. The narrow yard teemed with winter color. Tall palms shaded foxglove and pansies in a rainbow of purple hues, contrasted against pink and white camellias. Behind the imposing chevaux-de-frise tips of the high iron fence, a tabby oyster-shell path led to wide steps up to the dark green door. Peeling white columns stretched from the wide porch to the deep overhanging roof two stories up.

The old black butler Rhett had hired back from the family's freed slaves greeted him with an implacably dignified face, but his brown eyes were warm.

"Mist' Rhett! We had no idea you were comin' to town. Miss Eleanor will be so happy to see you, suh."

Rhett set down the valise he'd carried in and handed off his jacket and hat. "It's good to see you, Homer. There's a cab outside with my luggage. I'd like it all brought up to my old room. Is Mother in?"

"Yessuh, she's in the drawin' room."

Homer went out to see to his luggage. Rhett bent to the valise and took out a large, round hatbox before going through to the drawing room.

The hall and drawing room were floored in warm golden heart pine. There were bright new rag rugs in every room, woven together by industrious hands. There were new curtains in the drawing room which hadn't had window coverings during his last visit, floor-to-ceiling drapes of pale blue. The room was sparsely furnished with a mint-green covered settee and a few chairs, including a pair he had shipped over from France for Christmas. Those chairs were new and stylish, armless Louis XVI side chairs upholstered in palest mint. Though all the furniture was spotlessly clean and well-cared for, the fabrics were noticeably worn and the wood scuffed. The new chairs stood out with their gleaming perfection.

The large front windows that faced the sea to pull in cooling breezes in summer were shut tight against the chilly day, and a fire blazed merrily in the large hearth on the far wall. The room was bright and warm, friendly and welcoming where the house in Atlanta was dark and almost oppressive.

"Am I interrupting your needlework, Mrs. Butler?"

"Rhett? Rhett! Darling, I wasn't expecting you!"

Rhett Butler enfolded his mother in his arms and allowed himself a moment of peace to bask in the respite of her embrace. She smelled faintly of roses, the stuffiness of embroidery baskets, and the tang of salt and iron - the scents of his own childhood. He hadn't seen her since the funeral.

"Am I a pleasant surprise, then, or a most unwelcome rogue?"

His mother clucked her tongue and kissed his cheek. "Rhett, you know you are always welcome here."

They settled down comfortably. His mother sank back into her chair while he stretched an arm along the curved back of the sofa. "I intend to make an extended stay in Charleston, Mother. Are you sure my presence won't be an imposition?"

"Not at all." Eleanor studied her son with a knowledgeable eye. He had been so very unwell the last time she had seen him, of course. Even now, her big, vital, so very alive son seemed strangely brittle. Was that a tremor in the hand along the wood frame of the sofa, or a trick of the weak winter light? "You must stay with me as long as you are here." She picked her embroidery back up and turned needle to cloth again, weighing her next words.

"Will your wife be joining you?" Eleanor observed her son through lowered lashes that were still thick and dark. To another eye, less familiar with his restrained habits, he might have had no reaction at all, but the way he looked away spoke to her of restlessness and discomfort.

"No. She didn't feel she could leave the store, the economic picture being as it is."

It was almost the same excuse he had given her three years before, when he'd shown up on her doorstep with her darling granddaughter in his arms. It hadn't had the ring of truth then, either. Eleanor sighed, but did not press him. She didn't even know her daughter-in-law. Their only meeting had not been under the best circumstances. She knew her son, but in the matter of his marriage, she did not understand him.

"What a pity. I had so hoped to spend more time with her in better times."

"Scarlett's a very busy woman," Rhett answered, with poorly concealed bitterness.

"You are generally a very busy man," Eleanor parried. "Does business bring you here?"

"Perhaps," Rhett replied with a shrug. "I might find some business while I'm here. I am in no hurry to be anywhere else. What does the world have to offer me that can compare with the charms of Charleston?" He lifted his arm from the back of the couch, making an expansive gesture.

Mrs. Butler smiled indulgently, but her forehead creased with worry. What about the charms of wife and family? Why had Rhett come to stay?

"It will be good to have you home, Rhett dear. For however long you care to stay."

"Aren't you curious about the hatbox, Mother?" Rhett asked, his eyes twinkling at her.

She laughed. "I thought you would share it with me when you were good and ready."

His long arm easily stretched across the distance between them to offer her the gift.

The hat was a charming little piece in dark claret velvet, with a trailing bow on one side and a small spray of flowers. He mused briefly that it was only half as decorated as anything that would appeal to his wife, but his taste came from his mother. It was stylish without being overdone, beautiful in simple elegance.

Eleanor smiled with pleasure. "Thank you, Rhett. It's beautiful, of course. Your taste is always impeccable."

"It is nice to be appreciated." Rhett stretched out his legs. "And how is dear sister Rosemary?"

"She's been quite happy. Married life suits her." Eleanor saw a shadow pass over her son's brow. "We will have to call on her soon. She would never forgive me if I kept you all to myself."

"As soon as we can. I've missed her."

"I'll send a note tomorrow. And I'll warn you now, my sewing circle will be over on Saturday, if you want to escape them."

Rhett's grin was as insolent as the boy she remembered. "I do so love a sewing circle."

 _Atlanta, Georgia, January 1874_

Scarlett hid a yawn behind her embroidery hoop, under the pretense of closely examine her small, uneven stitches. Her needlework had not much improved since the lopsided stars she'd sewn on Confederate pillows during the war. The endless miniscule stitches, the oppressive silence alternating with such dull conversation, it all did almost as much to put her to sleep as the secretive sips of the brandy bottle she took at home.

Her green eyes darted predatorily around the gathered ladies. Dull whenever she was present, but she was sure they couldn't stop talking about her when she wasn't there. They were all spiteful old hens. Had she and Maybelle really made up, even a little, at that New Year's party? That had been a foolish thought. _She probably went home and told her mother all sorts of nasty things about me_ , Scarlett thought peevishly.

Scarlett was seated in between Maybelle Merriwether and Sarah Bonnell. Sarah had inquired politely after her children again, but that conversation was floundering. Scarlett stabbed her needle at the creamy fabric in her hoop.

"Frankie's already looking forward to his birthday, as if he didn't have enough of presents with Christmas."

Birthday? Her ears pricked. It would be Wade's birthday soon, too. She sucked the corner of her lip and carefully schooled her face to blandness.

"Why, Wade's birthday is coming up fast as well," Scarlett mused. "He's been asking about a party of course, but I just don't know if we can manage it." A party would be good for Wade, though he had _not_ asked. He wouldn't even ask Scarlett to pass him a slice of pie at supper. And for herself -

"Oh!" Sarah Bonnell put her own embroidery down in her lap. "I didn't know it was Wade's birthday…"

"Oh, yes," Scarlett replied with layered-on enthusiasm. "And it's just all he can talk about. He wants the other boys to see his pony, and he just won't stop pestering me about a cake. Why, of course we'd order it from Mrs. Merriwether," Scarlett turned a blindingly bright smile on Maybelle to her right. "After all, everyone knows she bakes the best cakes in town. Still," Scarlett sighed, "I don't know what to tell him. With times so hard these days, I'm just not sure anyone has time for a little boy's silly birthday party."

"Oh, no, Scarlett," Sarah reached over to touch Scarlett's hand. "Of course they - we - do. Everyone just loves Wade."

Scarlett stopped her eyes from rolling, but just barely. Everyone had loved Bonnie, but she remembered for the second time in a week that fight with Rhett over Raoul Picard's birthday party. How much they had loved Wade then, snubbing him from his friends' celebrations! It was strange, to think of that now. But those connections were on her mind these days, now that all others had been broken. In truth, loneliness was on her mind.

"Frank would come?" She turned and laid a small entreating hand on Maybelle's arm. "And Raoul, Maybelle? Wade would be so happy." Scarlett sighed, and there was truth in her next words, beyond the artifice of her plans. "He misses his Aunt Melly so. It hasn't been an easy winter. It would brighten his spirits, I'm sure."

Invoking Melanie's memory gave everyone pause. Scarlett's feet began to dance, hidden under her skirt, as she stabbed again at her sampler.

 _Charleston, South Carolina_

Rhett stood on the second floor piazza facing the sea. Tall glass doors open behind him led back into his bedroom in his mother's house. His eyes stung in the wind blowing in over the rough sea. Was he home? He had ripped himself out of Atlanta, but he had not yet set down roots abroad, had not found what he'd left Scarlett to find. There were uncut ties in Atlanta - the wife who wouldn't let him go, the children he had claimed but left behind. There were bitter roots, grown only into stumps - Bonnie, the unborn baby, missed chances. He was too old and worn out for the hazards of that world.

The orange glow of his cigar blended with the boiling sky that was brightly painted by the setting sun. Could he make a life in Charleston? He was almost surprised not to have been struck by lightning for daring to enter the domain of the Holy City. He would welcome the purifying flash of impact. There was so much darkness to burn away.

"Scarlett," he said out loud, testing the sound of her name where she had never set foot. She would be impotently enraged by his disappearance. How long could she keep that temper stoked? When he squinted his eyes through the smoke and the setting sun, he could pick out a flash of green off the sea that looked like her hot, angry eyes. It made an answering heat rise under his collar, and he tugged at his cravat with his free hand. It seemed he had made a bad habit of saying too much with her. In the book of foolish things he'd told her, " _I'll come back often enough to keep gossip down"_ was on the first page. Already, just a few days gone, he felt the promise of that statement pulling at him. He never should have told her he'd come back. That promise was a shackle around his ankles, the chain that pulled him to Atlanta.

Desire was in those links. He knew it, and he resented it. It put the lie to at least part of what he'd told her in September - _pity and kindness._ There had been little enough of kindness in his actions in December. For the second morning in their lives, he hadn't been able to face her eyes after his self-betrayal. But he could imagine them, now. He didn't need to find their color in the sea. In all these years, it had never left his mind.

 _Atlanta, Georgia, February 1874_

January brought no word from Rhett. Would he come back again? Did that empty promise still stand - _I'll come back often enough to keep gossip down_. Did it even matter if he did? Nothing had changed between Christmas and New Year. Scarlett had hoped - but his absence, his departure on New Year's Day had belied any hope.

She didn't give a damn about the gossip any way. What she cared about - what left a heavy weight in her heart, a knot in her stomach - was the loneliness. The false conviviality in the old homes that would not turn her away nor welcome her. No Melly, no Rhett. She had Ashley now, and she didn't want him. After Bonnie's death, she had let her new friends drift away. They didn't know or understand her, nor care to do either. They had no pasts of their own and no common roots with her. But them, she did not miss.

Scarlett had made her halfhearted forays into the parlors of the past, but it had not yet been enough to win back the esteem she had so carelessly jettisoned. No one in Atlanta, no one in all of Georgia had the same force of will coupled with self-serving charm as she had. Only Ashley Wilkes and Rhett Butler had ever stood against Scarlett O'Hara when she had determined to have her own way. Atlanta wouldn't stand a chance.

"Wade darling," she said with a bright smile over breakfast, "how would you like to have a birthday party?"

Wade hadn't had a birthday party in years - had really only ever had one, because the next year Rhett had stepped in and said the children of her white trash friends would only grow up to be white trash themselves, and he wouldn't have them in his house any more than he would have their parents. But they both had known no other parents would let their children come to their home, and so Wade's birthday had been celebrated with family only in the years since. Wade hadn't even been to someone else's party in the same span of time, excepting the little parties that Melly had held for Beau's birthdays.

When Wade just stared at her in silence, irritation sharpened her tongue. "Well, Wade? Wouldn't you like to have some friends come over?"

"Yes, Mother," he answered stiffly.

Scarlett beamed, her ruffled feathers smoothing instantly. "We'll have the most wonderful party! You can have whatever cake you would like. You can show off your pony. We can set up any games you'd like to play."

Wade just shrugged. "Yes, Mother," he mumbled.

Scarlett continued to chatter about games, and decorations, and all the little friends he could invite, determined to ignore the lack of enthusiasm or of any response at all from her son.

In the weeks that followed, Ella was more excited about Wade's party than her brother was. She followed her mother around the house like a pale, red-topped shadow, with a never-ending stream of questions to plague Scarlett. Morose Wade showed little interest in Scarlett's plans, no matter how she tried to entice him with talk of pony rides, and hot chocolate drinks to warm everyone up after, and the biggest cake anyone had ever seen.

Wade couldn't recall having a real party of his own before. Even the one birthday party with more than just the family in attendance hadn't included his real friends. Those guests were the children of his mother's friends, and no one but Mother liked them. Mammy had called those people white trash. He knew his friends, except Beau, said the same thing about Mother.

He wanted Uncle Rhett, but they had been left behind again. Mother drove everyone away! She was the reason no one would want to come to his party. She was the reason Uncle Rhett was gone - that was what his friends at school said, sharing the malicious rumors overheard in their homes. He didn't care about this stupid party that no one would come to, he just wanted to go away, too. He would go to Harvard, like his father, and no one would know him there - no one would know his mother. Maybe someone old enough would remember his father. They would know the Hamiltons, and he could be proud to be one of them.

Wade wondered, as he often did, what other mothers were like. Aunt Melly, he was sure, was the best mother ever. He had loved to spend time at Beau's house. Aunt Melly hadn't cared if they played too loud - she would even play with them! He didn't think anyone else could be so wonderful. But at school, the other boys had mothers who came to walk them home, and hugged them while they pulled faces at their friends to show how much they didn't like it. He assumed most mothers were probably less fun than Aunt Melly, but nicer than his own. He used to feel absolutely stricken with guilt when he had these unloyal thoughts about Scarlett, for despite his fear he had loved his mother very much and despaired of her approval, but now he was too angry with her to care.

The party did sound like fun. It almost made him forget his anger. When it was just the three of them sitting at the supper table and Mother going on about the best kind of cake for a birthday, he and Mother had both laughed when Ella pulled a face because she hated lemon cake. It didn't even matter, for a moment, that Uncle Rhett wasn't there.

On the Saturday of his party, Wade was too nervous for breakfast. He was still worried no one would come. He was worried about his mother, for her own anxiety about the day had made her cross and snappish again. She had been so nice, practically a stranger, for more than a month; but that morning she snapped at Ella for no reason and sent him away from the table early.

"If you're not going to eat, Wade Hampton, you don't need to sit there mooning over the food. Go get cleaned up and don't make a mess before your guests arrive. And you had better find an appetite by this afternoon, Wade, after all the trouble I went to selecting the menu for _your_ party! Ella, stop crying. Both of you - you're excused. Go upstairs. Go!"

When the children had gone, Scarlett pushed her own plate back. She pressed both her palms to her nervous stomach. What a rash idea this had been! All she had done was open them all up to the very derision she had been trying to avoid. She felt foolish for having missed her old friends, and blamed some nostalgic madness for the whole thing. Rhett had been crazy, worrying so about Bonnie's future. She choked a little at the unbidden thought that Bonnie no longer had a future, and hastily shoved the morbid thought away.

It was just a small party for Wade. Just a bunch of children. For Wade. Nothing for her to be acting so silly and nervous.

That afternoon, Scarlett came home streaked with dirt and dusty from the storage room at the store. Hattie helped her change into a dress, carefully chosen to meet the approval of anyone who accompanied their child to the front door. It was dark grey, high necked, with half her usual ornamentation and plainly trimmed. She had Hattie twist her hair into a demure, unfashionable chignon that reminded her of her mother. No rouge, of course. She hardly recognized herself in the mirror. She felt old, and plain! But she dared even Mrs. Merriwether to find fault with her today.

Wade was quiet, pacing the foyer impatiently. Ella bounced on the stairs. Scarlett almost took refuge in the dining room, and the brandy decanter, but she couldn't risk that some mother would smell the liquor on her breath.

Maybelle Picard surprised Scarlett when she was the first to knock, accompanied by her little ape of a boy, Raoul. She greeted Scarlett cordially but without warmth, whispered something in Raoul's ear, and returned to her carriage. The children went into the parlor, where many of Wade's favorite toys and games had been brought down from the nursery. Scarlett took up Wade's pacing. That was one guest - one family, though possibly the most surprising. Scarlett wondered if old Mrs. Merriwether knew where her grandson was spending the afternoon.

Beau came up next, alone and red-cheeked from the walk over. She hugged and kissed him and sent him on to the parlor.

One hour later, two more little boys had arrived, but no more. Frank Bonnell, and little Johnny Elsing, much younger than the other boys. They were the sons of the people she and Rhett had dined with on New Year's Eve.

There had been an enthusiastic war campaign with Wade's tin soldiers, which had had Scarlett gritting her teeth against the cacophony and clenching her hands into tight fists which dug her nails into her palms. Now Prissy was helping to bundle all the boys back up so they could take turns cantering around on the pony led by Wash. From genteelly poor families every one, their fathers had been raised with ponies and horses that had not been replaced in the years after the war. Raoul Picard alone had spent some time with the mule his father hitched to the pie wagon. Taking the other boys out to see his mostly ignored pony puffed Wade up with importance.

When the boys stomped out into the cold, Scarlett slipped up to her room. From her bedroom window she had a clear view of the yard, to watch from a comfortable distance as the five boys took turns sitting on the pony while their fellows capered alongside. Pork had been dispatched as a reluctant chaperone and he trailed behind the small pack of children. She could hear, faintly through the glass, the boys' whoops and hollers. Ella's high singsong voice, prattling to her dolls about nothing, drifted through the open door from the nursery. These sights and sounds both warmed and chilled her, an uncomfortable sensation that raised goose pimples on her arms. She gripped herself tightly and rubbed her hands along the prickled skin. Not even half the invited guests had come to Wade's party. She was indignant, though she hadn't been able to tell how Wade felt. Right now, he certainly seemed happy and proud, showing off a fine pony such as none of his friends possessed. And Ella, playing alone in the nursery—

With Gerald's stubborn jaw showing plainly, Scarlett O'Hara drew up and squared her shoulders. She had money and then some. She had told the world to go to Hell, and what did she care. She watched the boys roughhousing on the winter brown lawn, her velvet curtains clenched in a cold fist.

Mrs. Bonnell was the last of the three mothers to return for her son. Frank was upstairs in the nursery with Wade and Beau. Screwing on her most charming smile, Scarlett opened the front door wide, and Sarah Bonnell swept inside.

"Frank's just upstairs with Wade and Beau." Scarlett explained.

"Oh I would hate to put an end to their fun just yet," Sarah replied, taking Scarlett's hands in hers and kissing her cheeks in turn. "Do let's visit a moment."

Scarlett blinked at her and tried to recover. "Of course. I could ring for tea?"

"Delightful,'" smiled Sarah, taking off her gloves and bonnet. She laid them on the hall sideboard as, unprepared for anyone to actually enter the house, Scarlett had no servant waiting to carefully accept a lady's things.

Scarlett led her unexpected guest into the parlor, and gestured her to the pink side chair that matched her own, with a small tea table between them. Looking askance at her caller, Scarlett reached blindly for the bell pull and tugged it briskly.

"It's so good to see you. I've hardly talked to you at all since that wonderful New Year's ball," Sarah gushed. "Do let's visit a moment."

Scarlett brushed her hands on her skirt as Prissy came in and set up the tea service. Scarlett dismissed her with a sharp glance towards the door, and poured the tea herself.

"I hope all these boys weren't too much trouble for you, Scarlett. Why having just one in the house can be mighty trying, I know!"

Scarlett murmured something noncommittal about boys and sipped her tea.

They both drank in silence a moment. Sarah's eyes restlessly circled the opulent room. Her husband Andy had been in the Butler's house many times, before the untimely death of sweet little Bonnie Blue. Sarah had never crossed the threshold before today. Her impression of the front hall was dark and indistinct. The thick drapes and dark wood kept light at bay and the flickering gaslights did a poor job of illuminating the space. It had not felt welcoming. Though the heavy materials continued into the parlor, the curtains were open in here, letting in some weak winter sunlight. The lamps were aided by a large fire.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Scarlett," Sarah said. "I simply must return the favor. Would you and Wade like to come for tea on Wednesday? Wade and Frank could spend the afternoon together again."

Scarlett's teacup clinked as she set it back in its saucer with ungraceful haste. "Oh - yes. Yes, of course. I'm sure Wade would like that."

"And you, dear?" Sarah smiled and reached out a hand to cover Scarlett's own and gently squeeze her fingers. Scarlett couldn't help the suspicion in her eyes as she watched that clasp, but no ulterior motive came to her mind.

"Yes," she answered with simple honesty.

Early in the evening, when the Bonnells had gone, Scarlett smiled widely at her son and nephew and said, "Beau, it's far too late to walk. Why don't you get your things and I'll take you home in the carriage."

It was a very short ride to the little house on Ivy Street where Ashley and Beau lived, joined by India since Melanie's death. It gave Aunt Pittypat regular fits to be alone in her home again, but India had been adamant about helping her brother and especially her nephew.

"Thank you, Auntie," Beau said sweetly as the carriage came to a halt. Scarlett smiled fondly at her nephew. He had always been loving towards her; more loving than her own children, until Bonnie. She had somehow found a bond with Ella, now, but her own son…

"Did you have a nice time at Wade's party, Beau?" she asked, craving for some reason to draw out the moments of companionship before he left her side for his own home.

"Oh yes, it was a lot of fun. It was the best cake I ever had, too. Thank you for inviting me, Aunt Scarlett."

Scarlett smiled. "I'm glad you liked it! It was from Mrs. Merriwether's bakery. Maybe I could take you all - that is, you and Ella and, and Wade - for a treat sometime."

Beau smiled and, without prompting or demand, wrapped his skinny arms around her shoulders in an open, loving hug. Scarlett felt the prick of tears in her eyes, unexpectedly. She blinked them away as she patted the bony back of his shoulder. "Goodnight, Beau," she said into his soft curls.

Beau kissed her on the cheek before drawing back. "Goodnight Auntie! Thank you again!" he called as he hopped out of the carriage and ran up the bare walk to his squat little home. Warm yellow light pooled on the porch from the front windows and made a long trail down the steps when Ashley threw open the door for his son. The Wilkeses turned to wave at her carriage before it pulled away. Scarlett pressed her hand to her throat and sat back against the plush cushions.

 _Charleston, South Carolina_

Rhett hadn't been in Charleston since the trip with Bonnie. Her short visit had overwritten nearly two decades of memories before her. He had come here to forget, and everywhere he looked he remembered. It was all the more shocking, and painful, for being unexpected. He expected the house in Atlanta to echo with footsteps, to wake in the night hearing her terrified screams, to be followed room to room by fading laughter. He had been prepared to see her face when he walked in the front door - to see her in her mother's face. He was not ready for Charleston.

Because he had not had the time, or the foresight, to ready his defense against the ghosts, they both hurt more - and healed more. Not being rigidly self-defended, he had to roll with the blows to his psyche. The shocking disappointment of looking across the breakfast table and not seeing Bonnie had clenched his heart in an iron vise on the first morning, and the second, and the fifth. How many mornings passed before he realized he could breathe freely? And then how many more before he found himself looking at the empty space and smiling at the memory of her milk mustache, "just like Daddy's."

Going out to Broad Street for toys and books to send to Wade for his birthday, the melancholy wave passed over him on the threshold of a store he had visited with his daughter. He added a doll to the pile of gifts for his stepson. Bonnie would have loved the blonde lady in a fancy blue dress - but he thought Ella would like her very much as well.

 _Atlanta, Georgia, February 1874_

The Monday following the party, Scarlett took her buggy out to the mills. India's presence at supper, in honor of Wade's birthday, had stifled any possibility of talking business with Ashley. He still let her check his books every week, and was grateful for her mathematical eye verifying the tallies, even as he cut short any of her none-too-gentle hints on how to actually run the business.

Ashley walked out to greet her at the buggy. Scarlett's smile in return was a grim, working expression. She handed over a carefully wrapped parcel of shirts for Beau, which Ashley tucked under his arm without protest before handing her down.

"Hello, Scarlett," he said as she turned her cheek for his kiss.

"Ashley," she replied briefly, struggling to remember the social niceties. "We just didn't get a minute to talk business last night. I've been so worried about – you." Her practiced eyes assessed the stillness of the yard, the lack of activity around them as they went into the small office.

Inside, Scarlett was drawn irresistibly to the heavy ledger on the scuffed desk. She flipped it open and her eyes rapidly scanned the long columns, irritated to find an error of addition on the first page. And the numbers all went too deeply in the wrong direction. She skimmed the names on the left, then looked at Ashley with hard, accusing eyes.

"The Venables haven't paid, Ashley."

"We've been working on a plan. They'll come through."

"Before or after you've gone bankrupt?"

"Scarlett - you're too harsh. Everyone's having a hard time right now."

"I don't care about everyone! God's nightgown, Ashley, you have to think about—"

"I'm not the only father in Atlanta, Scarlett. And the mills are my business."

She seethed at these words. They never should have been Ashley's business - for he had no head for any sort of business at all. Oh, damn Rhett! She never should have sold the mills - never would have it hadn't been for him, although she still didn't know just what he'd done. But it was surely all his fault.

"I just want what's best for you and Beau."

"Scarlett," Ashley began. He stopped and sighed, and went to stand by the small, dusty window. His fists were clenched in his coat pockets when he continued, "I must speak frankly, although frank discussions between us seem only to have caused harm in the past. You've been a great help every week. You have a head for mathematics that's better than even any man I've known, and it's a relief to have your help with the accounts. But that's - that's all I have asked of you. To tell you the truth," he turned back from the window and attempted a rueful smile in her direction, "I thought at first I was doing you a favor. You seemed so lost back in October. We both were - without Melly. And - well." Rhett's unsaid name nevertheless seemed to ring in her ears. "I thought you might enjoy the extra challenge."

God's nightgown! She fumed again. The extra challenge! What had every single day of the last six months been, if not one unending challenge. Had he so little idea of how hard she had been working at the store, without adding his own troubles on top of it? No, he probably didn't. And she had spent more time than cursory reviews would have entailed on the problems of the sawmills. Still - she wasn't a child who needed to be handed a puzzle to entertain her. But Ashley was still speaking.

"You must let me manage my business as I see fit."

He would _manage_ her mills into the ground. Unpaid accounts, new orders drying up, the promise of an exclusive contract for Bullards' expansion never materialized. Without some infusion of capital, Ashley wouldn't be solvent for very much longer. And what could she do about that? For so many reasons, it was impossible for her to take a more direct interest - to take _back_ a more direct interest. No, if Ashley went belly-up, she would just have to find a new way to keep her promise to Melly.

"Of course, Ashley," Scarlett answered him softly. Her gentle smile spread the light of spring sunshine in the old, tranquil days of peace. "Don't let's quarrel about it, darling. Oh, never mind such dreadful things as money! Let's talk about something more pleasant."

The tense crease in Ashley's forehead faded as he relaxed. He propped his hip on the old desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "I heard you went to the New Year's Ball for the Library Association. Was it a beautiful party?"

The memory of that night was not much more pleasant than the thought of all her hard work crumbling under Ashley's care, but not for any reasons she could share with anyone. She channeled her thoughts to the ball, the party, the glimmering way the night had begun.

"It was a lovely party. The ballroom and the dining room were just covered in poinsettias. It reminded me of the way we used to decorate at Tara. Flowers on every wall - it was just like a garden had grown up indoors."

"No party now can match the splendor of those days. But I hope this one came close. And did you have half the town spoiling for a fight with Captain Butler for the pleasure of dancing with you?"

Her attempt at a carefree, tinkling laugh sounded sharp even to her own ears. "Oh, Ashley, how you do run on. It was - it was a lovely party."

"Melly would be touched that you bought a ticket. She cared so much about everyone. The idea of a library that all of the city could enjoy meant quite a bit to her."

Scarlett felt herself flush with embarrassment, and irritation, for she hadn't given one thought to the money being raised that night. The Wilkeses were always crediting her with far more nobility than she actually possessed.

But though it made her throat ache with the promise of tears, it felt good to talk to someone about Melanie. "She always worried so much about everyone else," Scarlett said softly.

"So you and I had to make sure to worry about her."

"Yes," Scarlett replied softer still, thinking with shame of how she would never have worried about Melanie but that Ashley had asked her to care for his wife. _Oh, Melly_ , she thought despairingly, _I was so blind to how much I cared for you! And now it's too late._

Ashley kept talking, sharing reminiscences with an unhearing Scarlett. Her mind had slipped into the endless circling rut of self-recrimination and shame that had been trapping her since September. The setting sun plunged the little office into darkness when it finally slipped below the trees and could no longer reach the window.

"I hadn't realized it was so late. Come, Scarlett, let's go home." The implication of intimacy in this simple phrase jolted her out of her reverie, and she jerked loose the arm that Ashley had politely taken under his own.

"Yes - it's terribly late. Thank you, Ashley. I can manage. We'll - we'll see you again for supper on Sunday?" Without waiting for a reply, she backpedaled hastily out of the building and climbed up into her carriage. With a quick snap of the reins, she turned sharply and drove out of the yard.

At home, Scarlett stood in the front parlor with a sickening feeling of déjà vu. The front parlor light had been on when she drove up, and a large crate had been placed in the center of the room. Another birthday, another mountain of gifts instead of the bother of showing up himself. Pork had already pried open the lid. She heard the clatter of Wade and Ella's feet racing down the stairs and into the room. Their eyes were feverishly bright with excitement, and she tried to smile in return.

"Shall we see what presents we've received?" she questioned, and they whooped and shoved at each other as they approached her next to the crate. She felt too sick to snap as they jostled her.

As in October, there was a vague letter with birthday wishes for Wade, a small mountain of presents for him; a new doll and several rooms of dollhouse furniture for Ella. She sent the children upstairs to put their toys away before coming back down for supper, and drove her fingers through the straw filling the emptied crate. There was nothing else, nothing hidden in the straw or missed in a corner. Nothing for her.

* * *

 _The last paragraph in this chapter includes a few nods to Gregory Maguire's Wicked, also one of my favorite books._


	8. Chapter 8

_Charleston, South Carolina, January 1874_

Rhett Butler was back in Charleston, and his life was the swift stream that set the gossip mills to turning. The distance between Atlanta and Charleston was bridged by more than the miles of railroad. Ties of family, friendship, and steel flowed swiftly between the two cities. The ladies who came to call on Eleanor Butler were quick to talk and write to friends locally and abroad about the return of her scandalizing son. In the exchange of gossiping letters, the rumors from Atlanta reached Charleston. These letters brimmed with tender sympathy for the grieving father and did very little to mitigate the worst of the stories about his cold wife.

In Charleston, Captain Butler's wife was little remembered by any but her own family. The longest memories painted an unflattering portrait, recalling the temperamental young Mrs. Hamilton with an ever-present frown and her nose stuck up in the air, her condescension inappropriate in the child of such a mesalliance as that between Ellen Robillard and her little Irishman. Too, there were the stories that had spread during Rhett's last visit to the coastal city, the rumors that Mrs. Butler was in trade, running a store or mills or something of the sort. Lastly, there was the complete absence of said wife. She had not accompanied him on his present stay, and he had made his last trip alone with their young daughter, which was even more unusual.

Rhett's own reputation had been somewhat mended during the time he'd spent squiring Bonnie around two years previously. As in Atlanta, father and daughter had made an arresting pair as they had ridden through the city streets and been seen in little shops and restaurants. Bonnie had charmed everyone who had stopped to talk to the vivacious little girl. These memories had had time to percolate in the intervening years, and when news of the child's death had arrived in Charleston the previous summer, many formerly lukewarm hearts had been opened by pity. Captain Butler was now an object of sympathy, although their parlors and drawing rooms remained closed to him.

In his mother's house, Rhett sat in on sewing circles and afternoon teas. He held skeins of yarn for Eleanor while he regaled her guests with heavily edited stories just scandalous enough to please without being too shocking. He brought her small gifts she could accept without damaging her dignity or her standing amongst her friends, who possessed the same pride in poverty as the Old Guard in Atlanta. New gloves, bright embroidery threads, a rose-painted pitcher and basin for her room. Yet always, Eleanor sensed a distance in her son. It was hard to put her finger on it precisely, but she noticed this most in his very imperturbability. He told amusing stories, but was never amused. Although life was generally pleasant, nothing less than pleasant ever irritated him. His mood had no ups or downs of any note at all.

Rhett had never been uncontrolled, but he had been passionate. Now the face he presented to the world, and even to her, was as smooth as rough-hewn granite. It was certainly grief. No one could have long sustained the passionate grieving that had gripped him immediately following her granddaughter's death. Eleanor knew this carefully implacable façade must have been erected in its place. And what of the absence of her daughter-in-law? They had, strangely, not seemed at all close when she had been too briefly in Atlanta for her granddaughter's funeral. How could they heal if they kept their grief apart? Yet she felt it was not her place to discuss the matter with Rhett. He was her son, but he was no longer a small boy at her skirts, to be comforted and coddled and guided. His life and his path were his own.

Rhett's sister Rosemary still lived in town, a few blocks off the Battery with the husband she had married the previous year. Rosemary Butler Calhoun was tall for a woman, like her mother, but some strange quirk of genetics had given her the blonde hair of her maternal grandmother, unlike anyone else in her immediate family. Her husband Thomas reminded Rhett distastefully of Ashley Wilkes. The same dreadful nobility of face under romantically wavy blond hair. Rhett and his mother called on the Calhouns within the first week of his return to Charleston.

"My darling brother," Rosemary greeted him with a kiss, clasping both of his hands with her own. "It's so good to see you. It's been years."

Rosemary looked extraordinarily healthy, almost glowing, and when he pulled her close to hug her he knew why. He hadn't noticed the swell of her belly until he felt it in her embrace. They separated, and he shook Thomas' hand while Rosemary kissed their mother's cheek. With a sideways glance, the pregnancy he hadn't immediately noticed was obvious. A cousin for Bonnie Blue. It became difficult to socialize lightheartedly, and his conversation took on a manic tone.

"Why sister dearest, you are looking lovely," Rhett exclaimed as they settled in the drawing room. "I do believe the sea air is so much healthier than the smoke-clogged air of train-obsessed Atlanta."

"Are you here to take the air then, Rhett?" Rosemary's eyes twinkled with a mirth that matched her brother's spirit at his finest. "Oh, do tell me how you've been. We were so worried with hardly any word from you all last autumn."

"I've been fine, Rosemary. I took an extended trip through Europe. Will this rapscallion husband of yours ever take you to Paris?"

Rosemary laughed, but the husband in question barely knew Rhett and he stiffened. "Well, Captain Butler, of course we would love to go -"

"Please, Thomas! You must call me Rhett. After all, we are brothers now, are we not?"

"Er, yes of course, Rhett."

But Rhett had already dismissed him and turned his attention back to his sister. Eleanor smiled kindly at her son-in-law, offering a silent apology for Rhett's borderline rude behavior.

"Well I spent some time in Paris, all of October in fact. I moved on to Italy in November. I stayed in Sorrento, on the sea. I do believe it made me homesick for Charleston. I've been landlocked for so long."

"France and Italy," sighed Rosemary. "But, Rhett - your wife - and doesn't she have children? Did they travel with you?"

Hard bitterness passed over his face so quickly that all thought they had imagined the brief tightening of Rhett's jaw. "No. I spent Christmas in Atlanta."

Rosemary stared at her brother, unsure if that could be all he had to say. But her mother caught her eye and shook her head slightly.

"And on to Charleston," Rosemary finished for him with a bright smile. "We are so happy to have you here, Rhett. We must see more of each other while you're in town. I have missed you so."

"I've been away from you both too long." They shared a silent moment while both women's eyes grew misty. "So, brother Thomas, I hear you are in trade. Trans-Atlantic?"

"Yes. I have minority ownership shares in my father's fleet. The whole business will come to me, eventually."

"Well there should be no excuse then, surely you can take my sister abroad. I would have taken her myself, but now that she's married I seem to have missed the boat." Rhett put on a charming grin.

His brother-in-law chuckled good-naturedly. "I will take her anywhere she desires to go, you have my promise."

"Oh, Thomas!" sighed Rosemary, and blushing, kissed him on the cheek.

 _Atlanta, Georgia, March 1874_

The pale yellow lemonade served by Mrs. Merriwether tasted sour on Scarlett's tongue. The Tuesday Ladies' Memorial Association meetings were as dull as she remembered from being dragged around by Melanie almost three years previously. Although Melanie's determined campaign for Scarlett's social standing had not been completely shelved following her long recuperation later that year, certain things had fallen away. Scarlett had made sure the aid societies were one of them. Regular afternoon social calls did not last as long and the company could be more carefully selected. Yet here she was again - and this time she had forced her own way into this dull sanctum.

Scarlett could not deny there was a measure of comfort, even in the sideways glances of her peers. For these women _were_ her peers; they were preeminent ladies, as her mother had been; they were young mothers, like herself; they were women who had endured many of the same hardships in the past ten years of war and Reconstruction. She hadn't chosen their path of dignified resistance to the Yankee occupation, and she knew they had not forgotten and probably never would forget her cooperation with the invaders and Southern traitors and apparent preference for such company. There was a depth in the eyes of Maybelle and Fanny that came from loss, losses such as Scarlett had also experienced. For Maybelle, a child; for Fanny, a husband. Mrs. Merriwether's hard gaze bespoke the steely resolve that had built her bakery from the ground up, the same hard strength that Scarlett had bent to her own business interests, a strength to bring their families forward out of poverty that both women shared.

And strangely, to Scarlett's mind, there was Mrs. Sarah Bonnell, who had made it a point to seek out the chair next to Scarlett's which several other ladies had passed over. She had expected it to remain empty, an obvious reminder of her status as not fully welcome in this august inner circle. But Sarah had come directly to her side and even nudged the chair a little closer.

Scarlett sipped the warming lemonade and occasionally dug her nails against the palm of her hand. She was tired, always tired, and the droning conversation about the spring fundraiser was hard to follow. It seemed that spring would turn too quickly to summer and there would be bitter anniversaries to face, most likely, alone. Her eyes roamed the room restlessly. They were in Mrs. Merriwether's parlor, still rather threadbare despite her financial success. Unlike Scarlett, she had carefully kept herself from ostentation that would too sharply contrast with the lingering poverty of her friends. She saw a servant pass the parlor entry in the direction of the front door. The woman returned a moment later and bobbed a hasty curtsy in the doorway.

"Begging your pardon, ladies. Mrs. Butler, there's someone for you at the door."

Scarlett set her lemonade aside. Had something happened to her store? Couldn't Hugh manage alone for even one afternoon?

"Pardon me," she murmured as she steered around the circle of chairs.

It wasn't Hugh Elsing at the door, it was Prissy. "Miss Scarlett!" she began in nearly a wail. "Oh Miss Scarlett, I din't know what to do -"

"What to do about what?" Scarlett asked impatiently.

"It's Mast'Wade -"

Scarlett felt her stomach tighten. Sweat pricked her temple. "Wade? What about Wade?"

"Miss Scarlett - he, he never came home from school. Pork went up there and Miss Fleet, she said she would be calling on you because Wade was tr-truint?" Prissy stumbled over the unfamiliar word. "He weren't at school at all day."

"Not at school? Well, where is he?"

"Dat's why'm here, Miss Scarlett. Ain't no one knows where he is."

Scarlett felt her knees tremble and locked them beneath her. Had Rhett taken him away, like Bonnie? Had something happened to him?

"Why didn't Mrs. Fleet send someone to let me know he wasn't in school!"

"I - I don't know, Miss Scarlett - sure I don't know -"

"Never mind, Prissy. Did you walk here? No carriage? Fine, there's nothing for it." Scarlett, turning, snapped at the servant still lingering in the hall. "You - get my coat, please. We're leaving immediately."

Mrs. Merriwether had come out to see the commotion in her front hall. Scarlett drew in a breath, forcing her voice to be calm.

"Mrs. Merriwether. I'm terribly sorry, something has come up with Wade. I thank you for your hospitality, but I must go home immediately." The servant had reappeared and with her help, Scarlett shrugged into her paletot and quickly buttoned it as she spoke.

With the warm coat done up snugly, Scarlett stormed out of the house with Prissy at her heels. At home, her house was a bustle of activity. Pork had mustered all the servants to search the house from top to bottom. Ella, confused by all the commotion and scared because no one would tell her anything, came crying immediately to her mother. She wailed and lifted her arms like a child hoping to be picked up and comforted.

"Hush, Ella! I can't carry you, stop that. Ella, I can't walk with you hanging off me, either. Go on up to the nursery with Prissy." But Ella shrugged off Prissy's hands on her shoulders that tried to peel her away from Scarlett's skirts. Her cries faded to sniffles, and although it made movement awkward, Scarlett did not push her away. Her hand came to rest against her daughter's slender back, which heaved slightly as the little girl tried to catch her breath.

"Pork," she snapped. "What's happened?"

"We don't know'm. We've been all through the house and the stables and Ceceilia even searched the servants' house, we got my Dilcey lookin' over at the Wilkeses, but ain't no one seen Wade since he and Miss Ella went down to school today."

Scarlett grasped Ella's hands, loosening them from her skirts, and kneeled to look her daughter in the eyes. "Ella," she admonished, shaking her hands. "Did Wade walk you to school this morning?"

Ella nodded.

"Didn't he walk in with you?"

Ella shook her head, no.

"Did you see where he went? Ella, answer me. Don't just shake your head."

"No, Mother, " Ella whispered. "He told me he was going to see his friends and he went off."

"Off where?" Scarlett snapped. Ella's unhelpful answer frustrated her somehow even more than the girl's wordless head shaking.

"J-just off. Around to the yard. I don't know. I went inside and Mary and Sadie were there and Mary had a new doll so we -"

"But you didn't see him again. How'd you get home?"

"I walked," Ella replied, and despite her distress her little chest puffed up proudly. "I walked myself. I'm old enough. I know the way all by myself."

"You didn't wait for Wade? Mrs. Fleet didn't say anything?"

Ella's lower lip trembled. "N-no, Mother, I did, but he wasn't there. And everybody else was leaving. I didn't want to be left alone. I, I thought I would come home and play with Prissy."

Scarlett released her daughter's small hands and stood. "Pork," she began with leaden voice. She felt Ella press up against her skirts again, and she gently cupped a hand on her daughter's small shoulder. "I think - I need you to go get the police." Ella's trembling made Scarlett's skirts rustle.

…

After much pleading and tears, Scarlett finally convinced Ella to let loose of her skirts and go up to the nursery with Prissy. While she waited for Pork to return, she went through several of the rooms on the first floor, looking for her money purses. She had meant to collect them and deposit the contents back in the bank - had meant to do so, to show Rhett some measure of trust in what he'd said during that week between the holidays. When he had left, that plan fell away. The coins from the four pouches he had discovered during his week at home still sat in the bottom of her valise, passed over despite several trips to the bank to deposit store receipts.

She had often left that bag on the hall console between arriving home and retiring for the night. Could Wade—?

With her skirts held high so as not to impede her hurried steps, Scarlett mounted the stairs and went directly to her bedroom. The small black valise was next to her vanity as usual. For reasons she had never troubled to examine, she preferred to keep it close by, and not store it more appropriately in the downstairs office. She upended the narrow bag onto her bed's smooth counterpane and began dividing the coins into piles. Each pouch had held the same amount of money - twenty five dollars in gold. Scarlett stacked the coins in squat piles, dividing them evenly. She was fifty dollars short. Wade could be almost anywhere, with that money.

…

"Yes, he has money," Scarlett answered the officer's question. It had taken hours for Pork to return with an officer in tow. Scarlett had taken a supper tray up to the nursery to pick at food with Ella, neither of them eating much. It had pained her to send Prissy to go through Wade's things, but she had glanced at his clothes and realized she couldn't be sure if he had taken anything or not. She had never been involved in clothing her son. There hadn't been money for him at Tara, and first Frank, then Rhett, had taken care of the boy. It had seemed fitting; she would see to her daughters, and her husbands had seen to her son. Now it felt shameful, and not knowing when or if Rhett would return again she would need to take an inventory and make sure Wade had what he needed. According to Prissy, he did not seem to have taken anything of his own. Only the money.

Ella had cried again, unwilling to be put to bed. Scarlett could think of nothing more to do until Pork's return, so she had sat numbly on Ella's bed, not knowing how to soothe her daughter but her presence had apparently been enough as the little girl had finally fallen asleep. She had dismissed the servants for the night. There was nothing more anyone could do, no corner of the house had gone unsearched.

Officer Lowery was a young man, maybe even younger than herself, with sandy hair and clear blue eyes. Their openness reminded her of Will. His calm presence was equally soothing. He was young but carried himself with confidence, wore his uniform with sharp pride. "I'm missing fifty dollars. I'm certain Wade must have taken it. I leave a case in the hall sometimes - it would have been easy for him to take something."

They were seated in the parlor. From Scarlett's somewhat precarious perch on the very edge of her slick horsehair chair, she could see the edge of the ornate hall table where she would set down her things. The young officer faced her, his dark boots firmly planted in the plush red carpet. He was leaning forward, elbows on his spread knees and a notebook in hand.

"Mrs. Butler. I'm sorry to pry, but I must ask these questions. Has your son been unhappy at home? Had he said anything about running away?"

Scarlett clenched her hands so she wouldn't close her eyes. "He - he lost his sister and his aunt in the last year. Within several months. It hasn't been easy."

"Of course," the officer responded with sympathy in his gaze. "I'm so sorry. All of Atlanta feels right poorly about little miss Bonnie and Mrs. Wilkes."

"He was very close to Mrs. Wilkes. She took care of the children quite frequently."

The officer nodded as he scribbled notes on the small pad of paper. "Can you think of anywhere he might have gone? Would he possibly be at the cemetery, even? I can go over there myself, with a few other officers to look over the grounds."

Scarlett shook her head slowly. Her mouth felt dry as she answered, "He might have gone to Charleston. I know that was more than enough money for a ticket."

"Do you have friends or family in Charleston?"

Did she? Rhett had family in Charleston. In-laws she had never met, a mother-in-law she could hardly remember out of the fog of grief that had enveloped her during Eleanor Butler's only visit to Atlanta. She had no idea if Rhett was in Charleston or not, but Wade might think so. Wade might even know so - maybe Rhett had confided in his stepson before he left. Wade hadn't been to Charleston since he was a babe in dresses, he couldn't have any idea how to actually find his stepfather. But her money was missing, the house was empty. They would have heard from Dilcey, or Ashley himself by now, if her son was at the Wilkes' house. Wade had made his dislike for her perfectly clear. Had he grown so sick of being with her at home that he would run away, risk travelling alone to a strange city, just to find his stepfather?

Scarlett didn't know. She didn't know her son, had never known him, and hardly bothered to try to get to know him. Briefly, when Rhett had disappeared with Bonnie, she had tentatively reached out to her children, and withdrawn quickly in the face of their shy rebuff. Her son was a stranger. He might do anything.

"My husband's family," she answered. "He's from Charleston."

"Is he there now? Your husband, that is."

Her mouth went dry. She forced the lie - or was it truth? - out over stiff lips. "Yes. Yes, of course. That's why - I'm sure that's where he's gone." Scarlett lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, firmly declaring the lie.

"Well, Mrs. Butler. We can send a wire and have officers there to meet the train in the morning. If your son steps off that train, we'll see him."

Scarlett twisted her hands in her lap. She knew the train wouldn't pull into Charleston until late in the morning. She knew that little if not nothing more could be done in the meantime. If she was wrong, if Wade hadn't gone to try find Rhett, he might still be in Atlanta - but he could be anywhere. How could they find one small boy in the middle of the night? She remembered his proud back, his broadening shoulders, the stubborn jaw he had recently developed. But for all the glimpses of a man she had seen in her son, he was still just a boy, still small enough to disappear in the city. If he did not step off the train in Charleston, where would they look?

"If - I'm sorry, Officer Lowery," she paused to dash unwelcome tears from her cheeks and tried to steady her voice. "If you don't find him in Charleston?"

"Don't worry, ma'am. We'll have everyone here in Atlanta looking for him."

Scarlett smiled weakly. "Of course. Thank you."

"Someone will come over tomorrow as soon as we've heard from Charleston."

"I could come to the station -"

"There's no need, Mrs. Butler. When we get word, someone will come straight away."

Hours. It would be hours before she heard anything. Scarlett saw the officer out, thanked him for his time. After she shut the door behind him, she turned and saw Pork still sitting on the grand stairs.

"Pork," she said gently. "You should go to bed."

"You be alright, Miss Scarlett?"

"Yes, Pork. Thank you - for everything. You have always been there for my family. I know."

"They'll bring Mast' Wade home, Miss Scarlett. Don't you worry."

Scarlett gave a noncommittal nod and watched Pork disappear into the darkness at the back of the house.

She had sent everyone, Prissy and Hattie included, home for the night already. There would be no one to help her undress. She paced the hall until the carpet pattern began to blur beneath her feet. Her slippers began to pinch her toes and she kicked them off under the hall table. Her sides began to burn from the pressures of the corset she'd been wearing for far too many hours. It wasn't even close to morning.

Up and down the hall, making a long narrow oval with her steps, tracing the same path over and over. How had it all gone so wrong? She had meant to be a good mother. It was supposed to just happen, one day. She would be successful, her burdens would be light, she would have time for her children and time to be the lady she had been brought up to be. It had never happened, nothing had happened as she had planned. She was rich; with Rhett's money included, she was obscenely rich. She had never slowed, never stopped, except when her accident had laid her low. Then, recovering, she had feebly attempted to get to know her children - and allowed a small boy to rebuff her and best her. Scarlett O'Hara, who had faced every challenge life and war could offer and pulled not just herself but so many dependents through, had given up on getting to know her own son. Now it surely seemed too late. Wade hated her, and made no effort to hide it. Wade, who had always seemed to be such a timid boy, had found courage enough to run away from his own mother.

Oh! She wanted to cry out, but held the words in with the palms of both hands against her chest. She dug the tips of her fingers against the sharp edges of her collarbone with painful pressure. What would she do with this new wayward son? If Rhett no longer cared about her, surely he cared about the children. He should be here. She needed him. She couldn't ask for him. Would he even believe her? He might think it a ruse to draw him home. Worse than doubt, there would be pity. Pity for such a poor mother who couldn't even keep her son at home. What would she do?

Scarlett stopped at the foot of the stairs and rested one hand on the carved newel post. She pressed her other against her temple. She couldn't pace the floor all night, it was already driving her mad. Her head began to ache with all the rest of her. Walking and thinking in circles and it was all too much. She detoured into the dining room and grabbed the brandy bottle in shaking hands. Somehow she needed to find sleep.

It took two glasses for the liquor to work its pleasant languor in her limbs. Loosened by the drink, she unbuttoned her basque, and shimmied out of her skirt. She reached awkward arms behind her back and struggled, tugging at the knot and then the slick corset laces until she could unhook the busk and let it drop. She took another glass to bed with her, and lost track as she refilled it, becoming reckless in her pursuit of oblivion. The drink tickled in her limbs down to toes and fingers. It briefly made the world seem warm, and she smiled as hope stirred. Rhett had come home for Christmas. He would come back again, soon, of course. He would have to stay, she would tell him, Wade needed him. She wouldn't tell him how _she_ needed him. That wouldn't do. But with time—

The happy buzz didn't last. With each sip the world seemed to grow darker. Finally she let the empty glass drop on the floor and roll under the bed. She turned over and buried her face in the pillow. Time! When had that helped anything. She'd wasted too much time already.

The dream that came that night was the same and not. In the darkness, the fog rolled in. It chilled her bare ankles, and wrapped damp tendrils that had the solidity of tree roots up around her legs. She struggled against them, moving with slow, hard fought steps. She wanted to run, to run home, to run to Rhett; but with shackled legs she could only drag herself along. There was a light, somewhere, there was always that light in her dream, a safe harbor if she could only reach it. But tonight, she couldn't even see it. The slimy grip on her legs forced her to follow their path, not her own. There were no landmarks in the dark, but she could feel her feet turning, forcing her into circles. All the world looked the same but with the unerring knowledge that comes in dreams she knew that she was caught on one circular path, retracing her heavy steps over and over and over. She didn't scream. At some point in the night the brandy finished its job and blanketed her mind with black oblivion at last. The fog faded as darkness rolled in.

Under the influence of the brandy, Scarlett slept until late in the morning. When her gritty eyes opened at last, the room was still nearly as dark as midnight with only a slim line of daylight glowing along the floor under the heavy velvet curtains. Her tongue was thick in her dry mouth. She moved slowly, pained with a throbbing head, to pull the curtains. The light made her wince and she left them not quite half parted. It was enough to read the face of the carriage clock - after ten in the morning! The train could be pulling in to Charleston within the hour. She pulled hard on the bell rope, calling Hattie to her. She would need to be ready, downstairs, waiting for word from the police.

 _Charleston, South Carolina, March 1874_

The first Tuesday in March, Scarlett's Aunt Eulalie came to call, as she did every week with Pauline in tow. The three women were enjoying tea when Rhett swept in, bringing the day's unseasonable winter chill in with him. He seated himself by the fire and took the feminine china teacup his mother offered.

"Thank you, Mother. Ladies, how do you do." He inclined his head slightly before sipping the stale tea. A shot of whisky would have warmed him better. He sipped slowly, concentrating on the low flames and the crackle in the hearth, letting the low conversation pass by him with no more noise than the outgoing tide.

"Captain Butler. Captain Butler?"

Rhett realized his name had been called more than once. He directed his attention to the women.

"Pardon me," he said, unsure which of the two sisters née Robillard had been speaking.

"I was just inquiring about my dear niece, Captain Butler. We haven't seen her in quite some time."

Rhett's fingers twitched and he set down the dainty teacup before he crushed its delicate stem. "Ah, I believe Scarlett is quite well, Madam."

"You were home at Christmas, were you not?"

"I spent Christmas in Atlanta, yes."

Eulalie nodded briefly. "And our grandniece and nephew? The children are well, I hope."

Rhett's smile was genuine, though not entirely happy. "Yes. Wade and Ella are very well. They were quite spoiled for Christmas, of course."

Eulalie's nose wrinkled and she said, more to her sister, "I do hope Scarlett took them to Mass. I shudder to think...well." She turned her beady eyes back to Rhett. "Will you be in Charleston long, Captain Butler?"

Rhett stretched his legs lazily. "I might. I haven't decided."

Eulalie straightened her shoulders with a curiously familiar movement. "Will Scarlett be joining you? As I said, we have not seen our niece in quite some time. You are her husband, and therefore our family, so I hope you will forgive my boldness in saying she has been quite remiss in her correspondence."

Rhett's eyes gleamed brightly, independent of the leaping firelight. "No, I don't think Scarlett will be joining me."

"You should urge her to do so, Captain Butler. She has obligations to her family."

Rhett's feral smile showed his white teeth briefly under his mustache. "You know how she is," he said with a deceptive shrug. "I just can't drag her away from her store."

"And those - mills, wasn't it? Lumber mills?" questioned Eulalie, sharply.

"No," he said distantly, "she sold those, years ago."

Eulalie sniffed. "Well at least that's one thing she did right. Oh, Eleanor, I'm sorry to air such things in your presence. But our niece is just the most stubborn young woman. I don't believe she reads a word of our letters to her."

Rhett was tempted to add that she probably didn't read a word, period; but although it was a sneer he would have easily thrown at his wife he would not do so in front of his mother.

"She might not," was all he said. "She is very busy in Atlanta."

Eulalie huffed. "Too busy for her own good, that one. Well, Captain Butler. Thank you for putting up with my rudeness. Eleanor, I think we must be leaving now. Come, Pauline." The three women made their goodbyes. Rhett rose automatically to his feet and made a courteous bow. When his mother followed her friends to the hall, he sank back down into his chair and pulled his flask from his jacket pocket. After a hard swallow, he was grateful for the stinging warmth in his gullet.

He was staring, unfocused, into the fire when his mother returned and lowered herself gracefully into her chair. She took a sip of her tea but made a face at its cold temperature. Eleanor studied her son's profile. From her vantage point, the yellow firelight silhouetted him with hard precision. He had, if possible, become even more of an enigma to her. Even as a boy, he was withdrawn. Not timid or shy, but it had always been obvious that most of his life was lived beneath the surface, that the emotions most deeply felt were never shown.

Since his arrival, he had made no secret that he intended to stay with her for an indefinite visit. He had been a dutiful son, and a charming host. Sympathy for his loss had won over many hearts that had still been cool to the former renegade. His mother's friends doted on him and were charmed by him in return. They had missed the slovenly, drunken period when his grief had been too close to the surface, and saw only a reformed gentleman whose wild temperament had been moderated by heartbreaking loss.

It was that loss that moved her to speak at last. Surely, to move forward after the death of their daughter, husband and wife should be together. "You've been living with me for several weeks now, Rhett. You are always welcome in my home, for as long as you like. But if your wife is too busy to travel, perhaps you should visit her sometime. "

Although Eleanor watched him sharply, Rhett did not appear to move or even flinch. At length, she returned her attention to the remains of the tea service. His rough voice startled her when he replied with an exaggerated drawl.

"Perhaps I should, at that."

 _Atlanta, Georgia, 1874_

After supper, Scarlett tried to send Ella upstairs with Prissy. "It's time to get ready for bed, precious," she cajoled with uncharacteristic softness. "Wade will be here when you wake up."

"No," Ella pleaded, her hands wrapped again in her mother's skirts. "Please let me stay up with you. I'll be quiet, I promise I'll be still and you won't even know I'm here."

"Ella, really. Your brother is fine. He's in good hands now and he'll be home safe—"

"But Mother, please." It was the tone of her daughter's voice, so quiet and sad, not at all the annoying wheedling tones of a child's usual begging for sweets or toys. And it would be nice to have company as she waited this last hour or more for the police to finally bring her boy home. Even if that company was just her daughter.

"Fine," Scarlett relented, but her voice didn't snap. It was almost soothing as she spoke quietly. "You may wait up for your brother, but only if you go up first with Prissy to change for bed. If the train is at all late it could be very late before Wade is home."

Ella's smile lit her whole face, and Scarlett returned it automatically. With such a warm smile, Ella was almost pretty. Her face was improving as she grew, the round cheeks had seemed to lengthen as the baby fat left them, revealing the aristocratic cheekbones of her Coast ancestors. She had too many freckles and her hair could only be controlled by the tightest of braids, but Ella was looking more like a Robillard and, thankfully, much less like Frank Kennedy. Scarlett, moved by admiration and gratitude for her daughter's warm heart, bent and kissed her on the cheek before shooing her up the steps with Prissy.

Scarlett sat down first at her desk in the office, thinking that she could pass the remaining time in work. But the numbers seemed to swap around on the page and every hint of a sound distracted her. She had given up and was tucked into the parlor, flipping through an old Godey's issue with unseeing eyes, by the time Ella came downstairs. Her tight braids had been redone into one long braid down her back, and ginger spirals stuck out all over like tiny coils of wire. Her face was pink from scrubbing and her long white nightdress covered her bare toes. She approached her mother hesitantly.

"Mother, may I sit with you?"

Scarlett distractedly patted the slick horsehair of the sofa seat and Ella scrambled up. She sat primly for a minute, her hands folded in her lap and her legs still as she had been taught but rarely managed to accomplish for long. Then she inched herself closer to her mother, slowly closing the gap until she was snuggled against Scarlett's side. Without thinking, Scarlett lifted her arm to pull her daughter closer and Ella sighed with happiness. She watched the magazine pages as Scarlett turned them.

"Mother none of those ladies are as pretty as you are," Ella said with a yawn. Scarlett smiled, pleased as always by praise, even if it was just from Ella. No, she thought, even more so then. At least one of her children approved of her, at least a little.

The train must have come in very late for it was almost ten o'clock before the heavy thud of the door knocker came. Ella had fallen asleep, sliding down until her head was in Scarlett's lap. Scarlett had abandoned the magazine and was idly smoothing the small curls that refused to stay in the long strawberry braid. The boom of the knocker and Scarlett's startled movement disturbed the little girl and she came, blinking, awake.

"Mother?" she yawned, "is Wade home?"

"I certainly hope so," Scarlett answered, standing and almost dragging Ella up next to her. "You stay here, Ella. I'll send Wade in if that's them, but you can't be running around in just your night things."

"Yes, Mother," said Ella with another yawn. Scarlett left her rubbing her eyes awake.

Pork must have been waiting nearby for he had already started to pull open the door. He stepped aside with a wide grin on his face as two policemen, one of them again the young Officer Lowery, stepped into the hall with Wade between them. His head was bowed so Scarlett could not see his expression, but relief overwhelmed her. She dropped to her knees and pulled him into her arms. He stood stiffly, unbending, his own arms at his sides. Hurt, Scarlett stood and faced the officers.

"Thank you," she said, suddenly awkward and embarrassed by Wade's actions. "Is there anything more I need to do?"

"No, ma'am," said Officer Lowery. "Let's just keep the boy at home where he belongs. Right, son?" he asked, smiling at Wade but with a forceful edge to the words.

"Yes, sir," Wade replied.

When the door had closed, Scarlett thanked and dismissed Pork with a smile.

"We're glad to have you home, Mast'Wade. Don't you be doing anything so foolish nebber again," Pork said sternly.

"Wade," Scarlett said gently, "your sister's waiting in the parlor. She would like to see you before she goes to bed."

Wade shuffled in with his mother at his side. He returned Ella's hug and she hung off her brother, not wanting to let him go.

"Wade you can't be so naughty, you can't leave us like that, please Wade don't do it again, I was so worried, oh Wade, oh!" Ella rambled on until Scarlett touched her shoulder.

"It's late, Ella. Why don't you go up to bed." Her daughter transferred her hug to her mother. "Good night, precious," Scarlett whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"Stop right there, Wade Hampton," she snapped, all gentleness gone as Wade tried to slink out after his sister. She waited until Ella had begun to climb the stairs, then slid the pocket door closed, cutting off the rest of the house.

"Wade Hampton Hamilton," Scarlett began again, "I don't know what you were thinking but don't you ever, ever do something like this again." Facing her son with snapping eyes, Scarlett was taken aback at the anger in his usually soft brown ones as he finally lifted his head to look at her.

"I hate it here!" Wade answered, his voice raised. "I don't want to be here anymore. Why can't I go with Uncle Rhett? You don't care if I'm here or not."

"That's a lie, Wade, that's just a horrible lie. Of course I care if you're here - you're my son, aren't you? You belong here."

"It is not a lie, _Mother_ ," he replied, his youthful voice twisting with surprising bitterness on the word. "You've never cared where I am as long as it's out of your way. Only now there's nowhere else to go - you can't leave us with Aunt Melly all the time. So I want to be with Uncle Rhett. I'm his son - he said so." He threw his shoulders back and she was struck by how broad he'd grown. Wade spoke as if he was repeating someone else's words. "A boy belongs with his father."

"That's enough, Wade. This is your home. You belong here."

"I hate it here!" Wade cried again. "I hate this house. I hate school. Everyone - no one - " Wade stumbled over his words, unsure how to express it all. Everyone said awful things about his mother. They always had, and he had tried not to let it bother him, but it hurt. It hurt so much more now that Aunt Melly and Uncle Rhett, his bastions of comfort and security, had both gone. No one was really his friend. They wouldn't come to his house nor invite him to theirs because their mothers wouldn't let them - because of his mother. The boys did not scruple against sharing the things they heard their own mothers say. If he was in Charleston with Uncle Rhett, he could start over. No one would know his mother, they would only know Uncle Rhett. In Wade's eyes, Rhett could do no wrong. Rhett had the daring of a pirate and the honor of a hero. Rhett was so strong no one could gainsay him, no one would dare.

Scarlett was at a loss, and her helplessness made her angry, too angry to be sensitive.

"That's enough!" she snapped. "I pay good money for that school. We paid good money to build this house to put a roof over your ungrateful head. I am your mother, Wade. Rhett - never mind Rhett. He'll come and go as he pleases and you'll just have to learn to live with that. Lord knows I've had to. Go upstairs to bed, Wade. You have to go back to school tomorrow. Pork will meet you at the end of the day and bring you directly to the store. I'm not letting you out of my sight because clearly I can't trust you at all."

Wade's chest heaved as he drew hard breaths but his mother was still taller than him, and looking up into her angry green eyes that almost seemed to spark with rage, some of the old fear crept back in. He had always feared his mother, even more than he had loved her. The fear was a harder habit to break. It had been years but he still remembered the sting of her slapping hands.

Wade stomped off towards the front stairs, roughly pushing the door open again. Once he was safely out of her reach he dared to mutter, "When Uncle Rhett comes back I'll ask him to take me away. If he wants to you won't be able to stop him."

Scarlett sank back down onto the sofa when he had gone, suddenly boneless. She had to clutch at the carved wooden arm to stop her skirts from sliding off the slick surface and dumping her on the floor. What a fine mess life had become.

 _Charleston, South Carolina, March 1874_

With the end of March approaching on soft feet, Rhett was bored. It started as an itch in the corners of his eyes, that didn't go away even after he dug his knuckles in until his vision swirled. He was prowling the drawing room restlessly, unable to settle or focus, when Eleanor scolded him.

"Rhett, I find your boredom irritating. You are behaving like a child. Do I really still need to tell you to go play outside?"

 _Boredom_. It was true. He was bored. Nothing here fired his blood. He was worn out and ready for placidity. It was just difficult to adapt to after his life with Scarlett. He didn't know how to live without that turmoil in his blood. He missed his daughter. He would always miss her, terribly.

This was what he had sought, yet once again, he had somehow not expected boredom to be so boring. The wary town had not included him in the whirlwind of a parties that marked the peak of the social season a month after his arrival, but time and sympathy had eventually done the job of opening doors. He took his mother out at least once a week to small receptions and dinners. He was warily welcomed into the homes of men he'd known as boys; men who had followed the prescribed path he had so carelessly and offensively rejected. Men who had lived the same lives as their fathers, as his own father. Men who still had wives and families.

Rhett sat down heavily in the chair facing his mother. "I'm sorry, Mother. How disappointing - I'm no longer used to a life of leisure. I don't own a bank here to occupy my time. And when I wasn't working, there was Bonnie..." He trailed off as the pressure of all the empty hours of his life weighed unbearably on his chest, making it difficult to draw breath.

"When you arrived, you said you might find business here."

Rhett shrugged. "I don't need to. I lost some money in the crash and ensuing trouble, but I have other investments that are flourishing. I can do well enough off those. I don't need much here. You know as well as I that it's better to appear too poor these days, than too wealthy. It's more genteel," he added, with a flash of his old biting grin.

"You can't keep wearing holes in my carpet, Rhett. You're right about that, so you know I can't just go out and order new ones. Too many people would talk."

Rhett turned his head to look out the window. The ocean was violent, white capped and dark under heavy winds. He had missed this view, the companion to his own turbulent mind. The sea drew him.

"Maybe I'll take to the water again," he said.

…

A week later, Rhett had won a dilapidated sail boat in a late-night poker game. The loser felt well shut of it. Rhett thought of restoration, fresh paint, a fresh outlook on the world. But before he could make plans, the old world intruded once again.

He stepped with a jaunty briskness coming home from inspecting his broken-down new toy. His mother called to him from the drawing room.

"Yes, Mother?"

"There's a letter for you. Homer left it on the hall tray."

"Thank you," he said, and kissed her cheek before stepping back into the hall.

The letter on the tray was addressed in Scarlett's flourishing script. He took it into the small office he had commandeered for himself, off the second-floor library at the back of the house. Seating himself at his desk, he sliced open the envelope. Inside, there was no letter, not even a note, not even her signature. The post envelope contained another envelope. This was addressed in a square hand to _Captain and Mrs. Rhett Butler_. Tiny paper teeth stood up where the top edge had already been split by a letter opener. Inside was a heavy cream card cordially inviting the recipients to a birthday celebration for Mr. G. Ashley Wilkes.

Rhett placed the card squarely in the center of his desk. He adjusted it minutely, his fingertips pushing the edges around as he perfected its central position. His mind was blank, but he could feel the urgent wings of memory fluttering against the edges of his calm. They were warm, and bitter.

As he needlessly adjusted the placement of the invitation, the light from the desk lamp glanced off his golden cufflink and he winced as the glare cut his eyes. He drooped in the chair, suddenly, as a man blinded and stunned by a powerful blow. He dropped his head into his hands, and pushed his fingers through his hair, clenching them so they pulled painfully at the roots.

Ashley Wilkes' god damn birthday party. Sunlight in the library at Twelve Oaks, limning a vibrant girl-child in a warm glow. Green eyes, tip-tilted and angry, a stubborn jaw and a mouth begging to be kissed. His heart stuttered.

Another birthday party. The night was dark outside, but the dim lamps in the Wilkeses' parlor still made her glow. Not with warmth - her pale skin was like moonlight. A ghostly sensation, like he could feel again her terrified grip before he shrugged her off to face Atlanta's harsh judgement, made him rub his arm.

And an even darker night that had followed. Rhett fought the pull of these memories with a mighty effort. He pushed back his chair and began to pace the small office.

It was clear enough why Scarlett had sent the invitation. A birthday party for Ashley Wilkes would bring with it the memory of that last birthday party, and the gossip that had swept through Atlanta that day and the days that had followed. Society, which had never ceased to weigh and measure Scarlett, would scrutinize her mercilessly. If she attended alone, she would be reviled as a schemer, a scorned wife on the edge of disgrace playing for the man with whom she had been accused of indecency, even adultery, once before. The man who was now a widower. If she hadn't shamed to ensnare him with Melanie alive, what wouldn't she do now! Melanie Wilkes had championed them all then, but Melly was gone and the gossip would be quickly rekindled.

If Scarlett did not attend, they would judge her from the same bench, call it shame at her adulterous grasping. She could not win without her husband's presence to turn aside the gossip.

Why the hell was Ashley Wilkes even having a damn, foolish birthday party?

* * *

 _A/N: I did a lot of work on the amount of money, looking at train fares because it has to be enough to cover that but not seem a ridiculous amount to stash. But if you figure the habit of Scarlett's was basically to use her house as a bank, having a large amount of cash should still make sense. I hope._

 _Thank you everyone who has been reviewing! I am going to start posting the chapters a bit more quickly...I'm sort of tired of this one (it's so long!) and eager to work with some other stories that are still exciting me (still in GWTW fandom). I started writing this one about this time last year so I am now quite ready to get it all out there and move on._


	9. Chapter 9

_Atlanta, Georgia, (the end of) March, 1874_

Scarlett sat perfectly still, her hands clenched stiffly in her lap and her back rigidly proud, managing through a tremendous exertion of will not to flinch as every one of Ashley's words hit her like a blow.

"We're leaving, Scarlett."

"I sold the mills to an investor."

"A job offer in Chicago from an old friend who moved there after the war."

The high, clear sound of childish laughter was faint in her ears, drifting down from the second floor where the children had retreated to the nursery after supper. The steam wafting from her coffee cup burned acridly in her flaring nostrils. _Leaving?_ Ashley was still talking.

"That's why I let India have this party. I don't...it almost doesn't seem right, somehow, without Melly. But we'll be leaving Atlanta in May. I'll make the announcement at the party. So it's not really a birthday party, you see."

But she didn't see. She didn't see at all. Scarlett struggled to make sense of Ashley's words, his plans; to make sense of this world that always turned at right angles to her own plans. She didn't want Ashley. She was not in danger of having another temper tantrum like the one she had skillfully crafted in the office at Tara when he had threatened to leave for New York. She didn't love Ashley. Some days she couldn't even stand him. Ashley was her last link to the old days, her old life, her carefree girlhood. His shoulders were bending and his hair was more silver than gold, but sometimes when it caught the light she saw again the golden cavalier of her youth, before the war, before death and loss. She preferred that Ashley. To see him as he really was meant a painful reminder of the obsession that had derailed her life, not realizing it until she had had to pick her way out of the wreckage.

As complicated as her feelings for him were, her obligation was simple. She had promised Melanie. She had made a promise to her best friend on her deathbed, and it was all the more burdensome for the weight of her past betrayals. Take care of Ashley, take care of Beau. His departurewould take him forever out of her reach, leaving her unable to pay that debt, unable to atone for her many sins against Melanie. That burden would become just another cross for her to bear.

And her mills. She still thought of them as hers. Without her help, he wouldn't have lasted as long as he had. She had never wanted to sell them in the first place - and now he had put them completely out of her reach. Oh, damn Ashley!

"India wanted to have this party to take my mind off my grief, but I went along with it because - because I knew we would be leaving town, soon, and we'll want to say goodbye."

"You've already sold them?" Scarlett asked. Her voice was steady and bleak. She looked away from his earnest face and picked up the small silver spoon next to her cup and saucer.

"Yes, Scarlett. Everything was signed on Friday. I'll be working there another month at most. We'll leave the first week of May."

"I hope you didn't take the very first offer. It's never the best." Carefully, keeping her wrist tense so her hand would stay steady, she stirred her coffee. The cream swirled and blended, turning the black liquid golden. She could hear the smile in Ashley's voice when he responded.

"No, I did not take the first offer. I am not so shrewd as you, but I've learned a bit over the years. It's good money for us. I can take care of things that Beau needs. We'll be comfortable until we can settle in Chicago."

Scarlett nodded at her coffee.

"Scarlett, I think I'm doing the best thing for my family. It's too hard to stay in that house—"

"The best thing!" Scarlett interrupted, raising her voice with a wild edge to it. "Ashley, how can it possibly be the best thing to take Beau away from his family, from the only home he can remember? What will he do in Chicago?"

"India will come with us. Beau will have his aunt. With the profit from the mills, he can go to any school he wants."

"What about Aunt Pitty and Uncle Henry? Don't you care about how they'll feel, losing Beau when we've only just lost Melly—" her voice broke and she dropped the spoon. Coffee splashed over the gold lip of the cup and made tiny puddles in the saucer, secret shapes that meant nothing.

Ashley bowed his head for a moment. Yes, his hair was silvered all over now. It still fell in smooth waves along his ears, but the color was that of an old man. When he raised his eyes to her again, she noticed for the first time the wrinkles that crossed his forehead, temple to temple, and the sunken look of his clear eyes. More than his hair had aged. Her mouth gaped as she realized, why, he looked older even than Rhett. Some - some strength, or resiliency, that Rhett possessed was solidly lacking from Ashley. Life had taken a much heavier toll on his features.

"We'll come back to visit. It's not so bad a trip by train. Scarlett, I have to do this. I've never been comfortable with the mills. I didn't want to take the job you offered. I didn't even particularly want to buy you out, but Melly had such plans - all the things we could do for Beau, with the full profit of the lumber business coming to us."

 _Didn't want to buy her out_! This revelation was almost more painful than the sale and his pending move. _Then why did you!_ she wanted to cry, she wanted to curse him. She wanted to curse Rhett! She wanted Rhett before her and in that moment it was not to throw herself in his arms and beg for his forgiveness, for a second chance, for his love - she wanted to shoot him. He had been behind that debacle, somehow, and she knew it; and now her pride and joy was truly gone from her forever and it was all his fault.

As if he could read her thoughts, Ashley went on. "You know, I did wonder where the money came from. I don't remember ever nursing anyone with smallpox. I always wondered - forgive me, Scarlett, but I wondered if Captain Butler hadn't anything to do with it."

Scarlett blinked and tossed her head, buying a moment to make sure her features were carefully schooled to placidity.

"Of course not, Ashley. Wherever would you get such a silly idea. Why would Rhett have done something like that?"

Ashley shrugged and leaned against the tall chair back. "Oh, it was just a thought." His casual pose was at odds with the hard steel glint in his eyes. She knew, looking at him, that they both knew exactly why Rhett might have done something like that. Hadn't it gotten her out of the mills, and away from Ashley?

But that didn't make sense either, for by that point Rhett was only unfailingly cool and disinterested towards her. She still couldn't concretely pin her suspicions to him.

"There might have been a mix-up. He got the wrong name somehow, or even the wrong illness. There was little enough of clarity in that place." Scarlett nodded. They both knew it had to be Rhett, but how and why would always elude her.

"I'm free now, Scarlett. I'm not living off charity or concessions. Beau and I will make our own way now. I'll have to stand on my own merits for the first time since the war ended. Since before the war - maybe for the first time in my life." He laughed, and the downy hairs on the back of her neck prickled. "I have to do this."

Scarlett nodded and cast her glance down at her coffee again. "I - I understand, Ashley." It was as blatant a lie as she had ever told him.

After Beau and Ashley left, the children were put to bed, and she dismissed Hattie after the girl helped her undress. She knotted a moss green wrapper about her waist and sat on the bench of her vanity. If she pushed the bench back just a bit, she had a clear view out one of the large windows in her bedroom. The moon hung just out of sight, but it was full enough to limn the yard in silver.

She had already sent the invitation on to Rhett, it was too late to take it back. When it had been another birthday party, she had thought he would understand how she needed his presence. Though that was galling, the lightness of hope that he would come home again had made it an easy decision. He couldn't claim to keep gossip down if he stayed away. That angered her, as well. Those old busybodies who had judged her for nothing - for finding simple comfort in an old friend! - would of course be watching and judging again. And what business was it of theirs! It was ridiculous. The steps she had taken - forcing herself into their charities and sewing circles, and especially the unexpected friendship of Sarah Bonnell - had brought her some small measure of welcome, but nothing like trust, or even fondness. Ashley's last birthday party - that aftermath - if she went alone, all of Atlanta would be watching her, watching her with Ashley, waiting for the fulfillment of long-ago scandal. Everything would have been undone. As a farewell party, even combined with the birthday, she felt could have brazened it out. But it was too late. She had exposed her vulnerability, and now all she could do was wait.

…

The first Sunday in April, Scarlett woke early, her mind swimming against her will towards consciousness. The early morning sunlight pricked painfully against her eyelids. She groaned, and rolled over, pressing her face into the forgiving down of the pillows. The room was blissfully dark again, but sleep was more difficult to recapture.

She had drank the night before, as most nights. Exhausted and pleasantly benumbed after two small glasses, she had enjoyed a deep and dreamless sleep. The cyclical ups and downs of her sleep habits had been refreshed. After sleeping deeply for two nights, her energy was restored. Her restless mind drove her from her bed; it would almost certainly disturb her dreams that night or the next. Once her body wasn't fighting exhaustion every night, the nightmares would come back until the sleep deprivation grew too strong for her mind to overpower. There was no one to share her bed and keep the dreams at bay, as when she had slept with Melanie at Tara - or Rhett, in the early days of their marriage. The happiest days. Ella's childish mind seemed more resilient than her mother's; there were less than a handful of nights in a month now that she woke to soft palms patting her cheeks and drawing her out of the terrifying, fogged and frightening world of her dreams. Most nights, there was no comfort; just waking alone in an empty bed and struggling to sleep again.

It was mundane now, and she did not dwell on it. Scarlett lowered her legs over the side of the bed, swinging her feet with toes just grazing the plush carpets until they knocked against the slippers she had dropped the night before. She slipped her feet into the smooth satin before sliding out of bed. The green wrapper still lay across the foot of her bed, undisturbed during her peaceful night. Scarlett slipped it on and quickly did up the many buttons and tied the dark sash around her waist. She sat at her vanity to pull her brush through her hair and tie it back with a ribbon almost the same mossy shade as the sash, but paid little attention to her reflection. Two nights of rest made her eyes and cheeks bright, but could not completely fade the purple circles underneath. It would be a quiet day at home, she wouldn't need to take more care with her appearance until she dressed for dinner.

Coming down the stairs with a careful hand on the wide banister, Scarlett could hear Wade and Ella laughing off to her left; probably in the dining room. She wondered if they had successfully badgered Ceceilia into serving them an early breakfast already; the mantel clock in her bedroom had still shown an early hour. Feeling rested lifted her spirits, and it was easy to summon a bright smile with which to greet them. As she rounded the newel post at the foot of the stairs, she vowed to herself to smile no matter how cold Wade chose to be. She hadn't found any sort of approach that worked on her stubborn son yet, but she was not giving up a second time.

The silent promise lasted until she completed the turn around the foot of the stairs. The back of a smooth black head rose above the first chair. In the first moment of shock, Scarlett only noticed that a few unfamiliar silver strands arced back from his temples. Then she clutched the door, as her knees sagged beneath her. The moment of weakness passed before Rhett could turn around.

When their mother appeared in the door, both children's mouths snapped shut. The silence was telling. Rhett curved his head around the chair's high back.

"Good morning, Scarlett." Rhett did not smile, but his voice was smooth and pleasant. It would have been the voice of a stranger, except she had heard that empty warmth from him before; in the impersonal civility he had shown following her miscarriage. The distant politeness had lasted until Bonnie's death, when it was replaced by such bitter coldness, which had in turn become that blank, dead voice he had used before he left, and for much of his stay in December.

Ella was the first to recover. She jumped up from her chair and came running around to Scarlett's side. Scarlett noticed she was still in her thick white nightgown, and raising her head she realized Wade was only casually dressed in old pants and a loose shirt. Had Rhett come in so early that he had gotten the children out of bed? How had she slept through it all?

"Mother, Uncle Rhett said we could have breakfast?" Ella's inflection made the statement a question. She twisted her arms together nervously.

"Of course," Scarlett said vaguely. She shook her head, despising the breathless tinge to her voice.

"Will you eat with us?" Scarlett found her smile again and ran a hand over Ella's sleep-mussed hair which had mostly escaped from its braid.

"Yes, Ella. I hope you still have enough for me, I wasn't expecting Uncle Rhett." She saw Rhett's lips twist in a ghost of his familiar mocking half-smile.

Ella's pale reddish eyebrows flew up as her hands went to her mouth. "Oh, no, Mother! Oh, no, you can share my plate -"

Scarlett laughed at Ella's comically regretful expression and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sure there's plenty of food, darling, don't worry." She felt a twinge of guilt, herself, that she had spent so little time with the children, and still spent so little time with them, even when she was the only parent at home. She didn't think she had ever teased her daughter before. No wonder Ella had panicked.

Scarlett took the seat next to Ella. She wanted to be closer to Rhett, and the children, than she would be at the far end of that long, formal table. Ella's fearful response to her teasing was unfounded; there were still plenty of cold ham slices and cooling buckwheat cakes, soft tempting muffins. The coffee in the silver pitcher was still hot. She stirred a generous amount of cream into her cup, lightening the dark liquid until it was almost the same shade as Rhett's tanned skin. Scarlett busied herself with pushing the ham and biscuit around on her plate, drinking the sweet coffee but eating sparingly.

Ella squirmed in her chair and gesticulated wildly as she continued some rambling story. Scarlett thought Ella might have started it before she came downstairs, but with the way Ella tended to jump from topic to topic she wasn't sure her daughter hadn't just plucked a thread out of thin air. She noticed Ella was kneeling on her chair, not properly sitting. Scarlett bit her cheek to keep from scolding her daughter, and peered at Rhett from between her thick lashes and the coffee cup held up against her lips.

What little waste had still clung to him in December was well gone, now. Wherever he had been these last three months had done him good. He couldn't be drinking as much anymore, though she imagined the pace he'd set after Bonnie's death would have been difficult to maintain this long and still be among the living. Dr. Meade had certainly thought so. In his thick black hair, silver was just beginning to cluster at his temples, the source of the few streaks she had seen earlier. He must have come because of the invitation, the timing was too fortuitous for this visit to be a coincidence. His eyes were as black and unfathomable as ever.

The thick coffee settled in her stomach like a brick. Would April be any different than December? Scarlett had no feeling for metaphor, and seeing Rhett in spring didn't seem any more promising than seeing him in winter - especially after the way that winter week had ended. Alone on the stairs in the middle of the night, and waking on New Year's Day to find him gone without a word after a distant, confusing stay.

Rhett asked teasing questions to draw out the details of Ella's silly story - something about ducks, but Scarlett found it difficult to focus. At least Ella wasn't telling Rhett about Wade running off to Charleston. If he wasn't going to live with them, he didn't need to know everything that happened when he was away. They were her children; it was her business to manage them. She had thought, last winter, that Rhett's return would have enabled her to share that burden. His abrupt departure had dashed that hope and she was no longer interested in help that would surely come with a generous side of judgement for her failures as a mother.

The wayward Wade sat almost at attention, worshipping his stepfather with his eyes. Rhett flashed him a wink or a conspiratorial nod after each of his questions for Ella, drawing the boy into some joke that Scarlett didn't understand or share. Her coffee cup clinked as she set it down too roughly in the saucer. She forced herself to keep her features bland, thinning her lips to stave off the childish pout she could feel forming by long habit. She exchanged the delicate china cup for her gleaming silver fork, and idly stabbed her ham into pieces that did not make it to her lips.

Ella must have wrapped up the ducks, for she slid off her chair and ran to Rhett's side. Her skinny arms wrapped around his bicep and she leaned her cheek against his shoulder.

"Oh Uncle Rhett, we missed you so."

Scarlett sliced the edge of her fork through a peninsula of ham that looked satisfactorily like Rhett's nose.

"I missed you too, Ella. And you, Wade. You've grown quite a lot."

Scarlett lifted her head and glared at her husband. If he missed her children, why leave them? Yes, Wade was growing, no thanks to Rhett. He wasn't there to make sure Wade had food in his belly and shirts that didn't ride too high on his wrists and shoes that didn't pinch his feet. If this was the pattern to keeping the gossip down, riding in and out of their lives every few months to sweep her children off their feet and then devastate them again after a week, they would be better off with the gossip.

"Wade, Ella," Scarlett said, her voice dripping with more sweet cream than her coffee. "If you're done with breakfast, why don't you go get dressed. You can't sit around all day in your night clothes."

Ella giddily swung back to Scarlett's side and pressed a sticky kiss to her cheek. "Yes, Mother!" she trilled. "Uncle Rhett said he'd take us to the park after breakfast."

"Of course he did," Scarlett replied, cutting a glare at Rhett over her daughter's head.

"Excuse us, Uncle Rhett," Wade spoke up, acting on Scarlett's words but choosing only to direct himself to Rhett. "Ella and I will just go get dressed. Can we leave soon?"

Rhett relaxed his shoulders against the high chair back. "Yes, Wade. I'll wait here until you're changed and we'll go out immediately. Go on, Ella, and pick out your best frock. I want the whole town to see I have the prettiest little girl on my arm today." He raised his own cup at Scarlett in a toast, and his face was inscrutable. Scarlett shivered despite the warm morning sun that was striping the table.

Ella squealed and ran out of the room, both of her hands around one of Wade's, tugging him after her. All the hubbub and glee over Rhett's return made Scarlett irritable.

"Thank you for coming, Rhett. You don't have to stay. I shouldn't have sent that to you."

"I can't claim to keep the gossip down if I let you go alone into the amphitheater. Without Melanie, the lions will have your pretty throat before you know it."

She bristled at his words, though her throat was thick with the memories of that night and Melanie's unwavering loyalty.

"It's not like that. You see - Ashley's leaving. He's moving away." Rhett quirked a slick black eyebrow at her. His expression didn't otherwise change, but Scarlett thought she saw a spark in his eyes for the first time that morning. "He took a job offer in Chicago. It's a farewell party." _So it won't be the same_ , she thought, but couldn't bring herself to get any closer to the events of that other party. _It won't bring back the same memories - the same judgements._

"Ah, I see, my pet." His eyebrows relaxed once more into the blandness of his expression, and his gaze cooled. "Will you be selling this house?"

Scarlett's ears burned. She was on her feet without conscious effort, and her hands clutched the smooth lip of the dining table. Her mouth opened to hurl insults at him, to call him every bad name she had ever heard, but as she stared at his depthless, emotionless eyes she was surprised by her own words.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I don't love him, Rhett! I don't want him. You - you know what I want. Who I love."

With his quick, silent stride Rhett was on her before she could draw a second breath. Up close, those eyes that had seemed closed and empty were warm like a summer night, the inky blackness of the country sky above Tara and burning with a hot star point of something so raw it took the bottom out of her stomach and the breath from her lungs. Her white fingers on the dining table scrabbled against the solid surface for support.

"You've never known what you want, my dear," Rhett said in a low, animalistic growl as his right hand came up to cradle the back of her head. Her hair tangled almost painfully around his fingers as he spread them against the base of her skull.

Then his lips were on hers again and her heart thrilled at the kiss. She arched her back, pressing herself closer to him, and her own arms went up around his neck and clasped tightly. Was this why he had come back? He was kissing her already, like the small hours of New Year's Eve on the hall stairs, and it hadn't taken even an hour for him to take her in his arms this time. He must care for her - he must. He had come back because of the invitation, he didn't want her to face the threat of censure and scandal alone. If he didn't care he wouldn't have come. If he cared, maybe he would stay.

Wade's voice thankfully preceded his entrance, calling out for Rhett. They sprang apart, a mutual movement, as the boy loped back into the dining room. Rhett turned and casually draped his arm across the back of her chair.

"I'm ready, Uncle Rhett! Can we go look at the pony until Ella's dressed?"

"Yes, Wade. I'd like that very much. Let's go out to the stables."

Rhett didn't turn to look back at her when he dropped his arm and stepped after Wade. Scarlett stepped forward in a rush and grabbed his wrist. Her nails pressed sharply against his skin, digging into the ridge of vein crossing under the skin.

"I think you're the one who doesn't know what he wants," she hissed. Her nails pricked him painfully before she released his wrist.

…

Rhett had arrived almost a full week before the party date. They were hardly alone together very long after that first morning. Scarlett was not sure where he went or what he did while she buried herself in work at her store, but he was present at mealtimes and she was as certain as she could be that he slept in the house. She knew he had taken over Pork's job of collecting Wade and Ella from the little school. She waited anxiously for Rhett to ask questions about this new arrangement, afraid that Wade would say something about his ongoing punishment, temporarily relieved by Rhett's presence, of helping her in the store every afternoon. When Rhett didn't seem at all curious, and with no indication that Wade had confessed anything about what had happened in March, or even - as far as she could interpret from stilted conversations and the few interactions she had with Rhett - unburdened himself to his stepfather about his hatred for her, Scarlett relaxed. A little.

For a few brief seconds that Sunday morning, she had overflowed with hope, and it had run out just as quickly. Now it seemed inevitable that he would leave again. How could she stop it, if he wouldn't even stay in the same room as her? When the children excused themselves from meals, Rhett followed. Outside of the dining room, she hardly saw him. If she stopped to look in the nursery when she got home from the store, Rhett might be there with Wade and Ella, but their cozy little world seemed to have no space for her. After the children went to bed, he left the house; but late at night she heard his step on the stair that creaked, third from the top of the staircase; and the click of his bedroom door closing and latching.

Desperation drove Scarlett with mingled pain and pleasure to cram her mind with every moment with Rhett. Every polite word over breakfast or supper, every look down the long table. She extracted every morsel of comfort from each mundane moment, and stared at him with hungry eyes so that each line of his powerful body, each lift of his eyebrow, each quirk of his mouth, would be indelibly printed on her mind - for when he, seemingly inevitably, left her behind yet again. She turned that kiss over and over in her mind, alone in her bed at night, adding it to a hoard of moments that would have to carry her days.

If this was what keeping the gossip down entailed, she was not sure she wanted it. A week or two every few months, strained conversations with a man who was still absent even when at home, and the emotional letdown when he left. The fallout not just for her, but for Wade and Ella. Rhett seemed to think he could be two places at once. He could leave them in Atlanta as it suited him, go away and live whatever life he had found away from them, and come back from time to time with no repercussions. He could be welcomed back into her arms with a kiss; push her away and leave her behind and be welcomed back again without consequence.

She remembered what Ashley had said, more than a decade ago in the library at Twelve Oaks. Time and clarity had removed much of the sting from that scene, and she remembered his perspicacious words now with a detached appreciation. _You would want all of a man, Scarlett, his body, his heart, his soul, his thoughts. And if you did not have them, you would be miserable._ She wanted all of Rhett - and she wanted to know it, for if he had told the truth, she had had him for years without knowing. If she couldn't have him - could she live with giving him up?

Over the week following Rhett's second return, Scarlett ate little and the nightmare cycle repeated itself. It was nerve-wracking to sit through meal times while her husband made lively conversation with her children, but ignored her presence almost completely. The rich gravies and plentiful repasts she loved for their reassuring evidence that the threat of hunger was very far away, indeed, sat too uncomfortably with her nerves and knotted insides. Going to bed hungry made the dreams worse. She jolted awake, sweating in her twisted sheets. A fear she could not shake clung to her and made the return to sleep almost impossible. She curled up instead in a chair by her bedroom window, where the cooler air soothed her fevered skin, and tried to rest until the rising sun slipped through her lashes. As the end of the week approached, with mounting stress from Rhett's presence and the approach of Ashley's party, she slept more deeply but the dreams were not conquered. Instead, each night it became more difficult to draw her mind back to consciousness and shed their lingering fog.

In Rhett's waking memory, his wife was sharp-eyed and sharper-tongued. She had the prized pale skin of a Southern lady, accompanied by a flaunting disregard for other conventions of her class.

The woman he returned to in Atlanta was still sharp, but rather than the steel point of a knife the cut of her edges seemed brittle. Her pallor had no blush of health. The only natural color in her face were the faint bruised circles beneath her luminous eyes. They avoided each other. When Wade and Ella were in school, he stopped in at the bank. His desk was clean, the empty wood surface gleaming with fresh polish. He caught up on correspondence. After school, he lavished attention on his stepchildren, attention he knew, with some guilt, had lessened with Bonnie's birth and been given up completely following her death. Followed by, at last, his physical absence, after Melanie's death. They seemed grateful for his attention without being upset by his absence, although Wade had an edge he couldn't place. It reminded Rhett of Scarlett. It was the first time he had ever seen the mother in her son, and he couldn't make sense of it.

Rhett knew Scarlett watched him, the few times of day he was in her presence. When he caught her eyes on him, he saw only a brief glimpse of hot green before she dropped her gaze to the usually full plate of food before her. Full, he noticed, even when the dishes were cleared away. How she had the energy to stay all day at the store, given the evidence that she was neither eating nor sleeping, he wrote down to the modern marvel that was Scarlett O'Hara. She had an internal engine that pushed her through life without any regard for the world at large. As always, she would get herself through anything.

When he woke in the middle of the night, he knew with no sleep-muddled confusion or hesitation why. In the morning, it would surprise him, this complete certainty in Scarlett's distress. It had been years since he had shared her bed; much less since he had been pulled from sleep by Bonnie 's voice. The cry that pulled him awake raised the hairs on the back of his neck and prickled his wrists with goose flesh. Without thinking, he pulled his dressing robe off the back of a chair and shrugged it on, then chafed his wrists with his hands to rub away the chill. The corners of this house had become unfamiliar, and he cursed under his breath when he stubbed his toe on the door frame.

When Rhett reached Scarlett's bedroom door, he was surprised to find it open. The moonlight from her windows reached out into the hall, making a weak red wedge on the gaudy carpet. He stopped short, his bare feet still in shadow. The door had been thrown wide enough that he could see almost to the head of his wife's bed. He couldn't see her face, just the ends of black hair that danced across the sheets as she thrashed. Ella was creeping through the moonlight to the side of Scarlett's bed. He watched in stunned silence as the little girl climbed up on the high mattress and leaned over her mother, her head and shoulders disappearing behind the angle of the open door.

"Mother, Mother!" Ella hiccuped. "Mother it's just dreams. Oh, wake up Mother, it's just our dreams again."

Though Rhett's ears strained, he couldn't hear anything else. He could see the covered lump that must be Scarlett's body move over, saw one white arm bright in the moonlight as she pulled back the covers and Ella slid underneath. The house was quiet again.

Rhett exhaled too loudly, a painful tightness in his chest indicating he'd been holding his breath. He leaned a shoulder against the papered wall. He thought back to Christmas morning, mother and daughter hand in hand on the front stairs. Did this happen often? _Our dreams again_ , he recalled. Was Ella now plagued by bad dreams?

Moving slowly, Rhett pulled Scarlett's bedroom door closed and retreated. In his own room he sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. He felt the ghost of Bonnie's small body in his arms, heard her tearful voice telling him about her "dretfull" monsters. He held himself tensely until the sensation slipped away. When he lay down, he thought of his wife and stepdaughter, alive and dreaming down the hall.

…

On Friday, Scarlett came home from the store at noon to bathe and dress for Ashley's party. She lifted a heavy, deep green silk gown from its hook. The green silk sleeves ended at the elbow in a fall of lace. The tumbling fabric on the bustle was trimmed in ivory to match the long cream skirt. The cut and color were demure enough for a matron, a married woman who had buried a daughter and a friend within the year. It wasn't mourning, not even half mourning, but, she thought with a wry twist of her lips, it was better than anyone probably expected of her. The dark colors rankled less than they had in the youthful days of her first hasty marriage, and green flattered her in any hue, but still...she would make an appointment at the dressmaker's. New, brighter and lighter dresses might help take her own mind - _and Rhett's,_ her thoughts whispered - off all the losses of the past year.

Hattie drew Scarlett's bath and left her alone to relax in the deep tub. The warm water was lightly scented with roses. Her thick, straight hair floated on the surface and she moved her hands under the water back and forth idly, watching the long locks form black undulating patterns in the currents she was making. This was Ashley's farewell party. He would be leaving, moving away in just three weeks. Her mouth had a bitter frown as she turned the thought over in her mind, waiting for the sharp prick of pain that did not come. She remembered as if from a dream the desperation she had felt when he had first planned to go North, the driving need to keep him close at any cost. He had said he would be lost if he took her offer; she saw now that he had been. He had been adrift for years, unsure of himself and his place in the world. That steely glint in his eyes when he had told her last month about this move to Chicago was utterly unfamiliar in Ashley's usually soft gaze. Dreamy Ashley had put at least one foot on solid ground for the first time in his life. And he had placed it on a path that would take him away from her for good.

Her sorrow at this event was dull, not the sharp and bitter pain of half a decade ago - it was nostalgic, and friendly. It came from childhood, and the memories of County life that she could share with so few people now, and with no one in Atlanta. Her heart felt empty, but not longing. She would miss him; but she missed the lumber mills, the yard and the hard work and tangible rewards she had put in and reaped from them, possibly more. They were well and truly gone from her now. It was a relief and a loss.

Scarlett shook her head and called for Hattie to help her with her hair. She had never been one to wander in the past, and she wouldn't start now. Tonight, she had to get through this party with Rhett. Would he kiss her again? Would he leave again? She wasn't sure anymore what she expected or even wanted from him. She wanted him to go away, she wanted him to stay and take her in his arms. She wanted life to move forward. When Hattie poured a pitcher over her head to rinse the soap from her hair, she shivered as the water sluiced down her bare arms.

Hattie brushed her hair out in front of the fire. Damp and drying, even the shortest wisps that tickled the sides of her neck behind her ears were too stubborn to curl. The heavy weight of the wet curtain lightened as it dried in a straight waterfall down to the middle of her back. Her neck ached by the time it was done. Hattie drew her hair back, looping it and weaving the loops through and around into an elaborate pattern that weighed down the back of her head.

Scarlett sat at her vanity after she dismissed the maid. She swung open the cunningly tiered drawers of her elaborately painted jewelry box, designed so that most of the contents could be viewed simultaneously. The diamond-and-emerald necklace that had been left behind for her after Christmas sat on top. Her fingers traced the closely-set stones on the heart-shaped pendant. How odd that Rhett had not said anything about the disappearance of that box from his room. Had the gift been an afterthought, now forgotten? She bypassed the new necklace for a simple strand of pearls. She would not wear the gift he hadn't even managed to give.

Rhett was sharply dressed in formal black. His coat and crisp white shirt, though perfectly tailored, seemed somehow inadequate to contain his powerful chest and shoulders. He did not offer his arm as they stepped outside to the waiting carriage. She shivered as she went down the steps, feeling her skirts catch as they brushed across his legs following her.

Pork helped her up into the vehicle. Rhett took the seat across from her and tossed his tall beaver hat aside. Scarlett ducked her head under the pretense of smoothing her skirts, and struggled to see him through the veil of her lashes in the dark compartment. Her fingers drummed against her thighs. She felt very alone. They were so close their calves bumped against each other as the carriage lurched forward, but the empty seat seemed to yawn on either side of her.

"So, Mrs. Butler," Rhett said into the darkness. "Ashley's sold the mills and they're well and truly out of your grasp now. Are you sorry he didn't sell them back to you?"

"Of course I am," Scarlett replied with a snap. She had already thought about that; either the offer had been too generous, or Ashley hadn't wanted to answer the questions she surely would have asked. "Those mills have always been important to me. I know you think it was just because of Ashley - you never understood."

Her skirts rustled as Rhett's long legs shifted across from her. He bent one leg and planted an elegant leather shoe over his knee. His hand twitched against the sole, fidgeting like he wished to strike a match.

"Wasn't it? Don't tell me you don't wish he would keep them and work here, living under your thumb, in perpetuity."

"In what?" Scarlett questioned, wondering just how offended she should be by his unintelligible question.

"In perpetuity. Without end."

"Oh." She clenched her gloved hands and shoved them down the folds of her skirt. He always had to tease her with his knowledge. She hated the ignorant feeling he managed to stir, and she clung to that feeling, wishing it were shield enough to protect her from his cool scorn. Something warm to sustain her through the cold of his inevitable absence.

She took a deep breath, and drew courage from the anger. "You don't understand. I told you before you left, but you don't believe me, that's clear. And you never let me explain - before - but I suppose it wouldn't have mattered then, either. Ashley is the only person I have left from my life - before the war, before everything. No, I don't like to think about it, but there's still a comfort in knowing I have someone who sees me like I was - someone who thinks of me that way, who isn't looking down his nose and criticizing everything I do." She was thinking of the old ladies, Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Elsing and Mrs. Meade, but she realized as she spoke she might have been talking about Rhett. That was something Ashley offered that Rhett never had: respect, even if Ashley's respect was based on misconceptions of the girl she was and the woman she'd become. She thought Rhett had admired her, once, but she felt it had been a long time since she had seemed to mean anything to him at all. "And the mills - I made those mills, Rhett. I worked hard and poured all the energy I had into making them work. I sacrificed so much - Wade and Ella - to make something for us from those mills. I know I wasn't a good mother, not like Melly, but I did it for us. So no one would ever be able to take everything from us. Never again." Scarlett finished fiercely. Her eyes glowed with green fire in the dim interior of the carriage. Rhett was silent.

"Ashley can do what he wants," Scarlett continued when Rhett didn't respond. "Of course I'll miss him. I've known him forever. But I hate that the mills were sold to strangers."

"Ella loves you," Rhett said at last. Scarlett blinked at him, startled by the turn in conversation.

"What?"

"Ella loves you very much. Perhaps you are a better mother than at least some cats, though forgive me for being surprised," he said in an attempt at levity that fell flat in the tense atmosphere inside the carriage.

Her spine stiffened. "You never gave me a chance," she said quietly, no longer talking about her relationship with her first two children.

"I'm sorry," Rhett said, surprising her again. She was distracted and unprepared for the carriage to stop suddenly, nearly sliding her from the seat. Rhett's hands were warm even through her layers of clothing as he leaned over and grabbed her hips to lift her back to the seat. He ducked out of the carriage, then turned back and extended his arms to her. She grasped his forearms just below the elbow as he put his hands on her waist and pulled her out the low door, setting her gently on her feet. He made a gallant bow and offered his arm.

"No lions tonight," he murmured into her hair above her ear as they started up the narrow walk. She stiffened at the memory of the last party in this house. "Relax," he added when he felt her tension. "I didn't mean—"

But they were on the porch now, and India was greeting her with more warmth than she'd had for Scarlett in years. They weren't friends or even truly friendly, but hatred had at least been put away, apparently buried with Melanie, and India could put on the act of kindly courtesy as well as she had more than a decade ago in the hall of Twelve Oaks. Rhett was his most charming self, bowing low over India's cold hand and throwing her a wink that brought color to her otherwise bloodless face.

Then Ashley was there, kissing Scarlett's cheek in greeting and shaking Rhett's hand. Scarlett didn't realize she had dug her nails into Rhett's arm until he covered her hand with his own, large and warm. She relaxed and leaned into her husband's side. Scarlett watched Ashley move on to greet other guests, his silver head shining almost golden again in the warm lamplight. For a moment, she saw again the golden cavalier of her youth, glowing in the sunlight on the porch at Tara. She felt unshed tears clog her throat and leave a bitter taste in her mouth, but her chest felt strangely numb. Ashley would be leaving, moving away and out of her life probably for good. Leaving, as she had not let him do almost a decade earlier. The cavalier of her youth - but also the damaging obsession on which she had wrecked her life. She didn't know how to feel about his departure. As she had clung to Melanie's arm three years ago, now she pressed herself close to Rhett's strong arm, was careful not to catch him with her nails again.

The small house on Ivy Street was crowded as it hadn't been since Melanie's death, as it used to be just after the war when the weary citizens of Atlanta had been drawn to Mrs. Wilkes' soothing presence and quiet charisma. Old friends jostled the tightly wound Butlers. For Rhett, there were warm greetings and firm handshakes, fawning murmurs from the young wives, stern but affectionate looks from the old matrons. Who could blame him for being so absent from Atlanta these many months? Without his daughter, what was there to keep him here but his heartless, trashy wife and the children from her first two, dead, husbands?

Scarlett's presence was divisive. The old guard, the stern dowagers of Atlanta, were not fooled. She had been quiet and demure as never before since Melanie's death, but the trust that had been repeatedly broken since her scandalous behavior as Charles Hamilton's widow would not be returned. She bore the brunt of their scorn, for no one seemed to remember, or at least they didn't care, that their darling Captain Butler had been the man to dance with her first. Rhett's sins had been overwritten by his love for Bonnie, and his contributions to the Democratic cause. Still, some of the younger women had begun to warm to her again. Jealousy at Scarlett's freedom had been a major underpinning of their resentment, and the death of her child and best friend had undercut that emotion. Scarlett did and said things they could only dream of, she had freedom they wouldn't dare dream of thanks to her own business interests; but it was hard to be jealous of a sad, pale woman whose daughter had died, whose best friend had died, whose husband had clearly left her - despite this second public appearance. Twice in over six months did not a marriage make. The tragedies of the past year were enough to stir warmer hearts.

No one would champion her like Melly had, with unwavering love and devotion, but Sarah Bonnell greeted her with a warm smile and an entreating hand.

"Captain Butler; Scarlett; it's so good to see you both! Scarlett, do stay and chat with us. We're making plans for a picnic fundraiser. It will have to be in June - we just can't risk the rain in May - but we're quite torn on where to host it. You must break our tie." Sarah drew her into the small circle of women with skeptical brows.

Rhett was relieved to drop her hand and move away. He stopped at the punch bowl and filled a cup with the overly sweet liquid. He greeted old acquaintances that had never quite been friends as he waded through the crowd until he found a spot of bare wall to prop himself up. Andy Bonnell found him there, clapping him on the shoulder as he took the spot beside Rhett.

"Good to see you again, Rhett. I heard you were back in town from my boy Frankie. He said Wade had invited him to go riding with you both."

"Andy," Rhett said with a nod. "If it's alright with you, yes. I told Wade we'd head out of town tomorrow, spend the day in the country. He asked if he could invite a friend. You don't mind?"

"Not at all, Rhett. Look - I know - well, we haven't always been open to your...family."

"Scarlett," Rhett said, stiffening against the wall.

"Now, Rhett, I mean no offense. I'm trying to tell you we don't want to hold the past against anyone. Sarah's become rather fond of Mrs. Butler, actually. I thought when we got the invitation to Wade's birthday that she'd throw a fit about letting Frank over there, but I guess some of the ladies have had a change of heart. Everyone could see how torn up she was over Mrs. Wilkes' death...and of course..."

Rhett nodded and swigged the disappointing punch. "I believe I still owe you a cigar, Andy. Why don't you come over tomorrow evening. We can share a cigar before you collect Frank."

"I'll look forward to it, Rhett, thank you."

The men were silent a moment. Rhett stood a head above most of the crowd. It was easy to find Scarlett - a head below many of the guests, but from his vantage point he could quickly spot the black ropes of hair piled high above her slender neck. He watched her with the small circle of ladies, standing next to Andy's wife. He could see her shoulders moving though she stood still and straight, a sure sign that her hands were twisting nervously where he couldn't see. So somehow even without her only champion, his wife had not been completely cast out. He smiled unwittingly, with pride at her tenacity even as he scorned her and wondered how long it would be before she offended everyone one last time. She'd thrown Wade a birthday party?

"So, Rhett, will you be in town much longer this time?"

Rhett looked away from his wife. "I'm not sure, Andy. I was - called away on business rather unexpectedly in January," he lied smoothly.

Andy nodded. Rhett Butler had been coming and going from Atlanta for as long as he'd known the other man. There were rumors, now - but he could see Rhett watching his wife across the room. Andy didn't put much credence in the talk. Atlanta had been gossiping about Scarlett and Rhett Butler since she was the widow Hamilton and he was a dashing and despicable blockade runner. Rhett had long since proven himself to be a gentleman, in Andy's eyes and in the eyes of most of the town. Scarlett was another story, but if his wife had decided to warm up to Mrs. Butler now, he'd go along with it. Like most of the men he knew, he'd never had a problem with her - not like the women.

"Guess Wade wasn't too happy about that."

Rhett shrugged in response to the strangely personal observation.

"It's good he came home safe. Boys will be boys, I suppose, haring off on one foolhardy scheme or other."

Rhett hummed a noncommittal reply. _Home safe_? What was Andy talking about? He looked back across the crowd to Scarlett with narrowed eyes.

Hugh Elsing joined their little club, saving Rhett from being forced to reveal his ignorance. The newcomer lifted his punch glass. "Not quite like the contents of your cellaret, Butler."

Rhett clinked his punch glass to Hugh's. "Thank you, Hugh."

Further conversation was overruled by the clink of silver against crystal from the front of the room, a soft noise that spread as conversations in the crowded house died away. With the other guests, the three men turned their attention to staircase. Ashley Wilkes stood on the second step, clearly visible above the crowd. He cleared his throat.

"Dear friends," he began in a smooth voice that carried over his guests. "Thank you all for coming here tonight. I am honored by your presence. As you know, this is not just a vain birthday party I'm throwing myself. In just a few weeks, we - my sister, my son, and I - will be leaving Atlanta. I've accepted a job in Chicago. We are all sad to leave this town - and this home with so many happy memories. And we will miss every one of you." Ashley cleared his throat again, and continued thickly. "Seeing you all here, I remember so many other gatherings in this house; social hours which spilled onto the porch, guests who sat on railings and steps for we could not even offer enough furniture for everyone. My wife...loved you all very much. She loved everyone. Thank you, again, for being here tonight. I believe she would be happy to see the house so full of life, one last time." With shining eyes, Ashley lifted his own punch glass and his guests followed suit in a slow cascade.

Someone in the crush called out, "To Miss Melly!" Ashley smiled tightly and nodded his head.

"To Melly," he whispered, before taking a sip with everyone else.

The murmur of conversation grew back to a roar almost immediately. Rhett drained the saccharine punch and set his empty glass down with a small collection of other glasses on a side table. He scanned the crowd again and found Scarlett, still clustered with the same women. He saw her own punch glass descend from her mouth, leaving a sheen of red on her upper lip. He swallowed, the moisture from his last sip drying on his tongue. She looked up then, the empty glass dangling from her fingers, and found his gaze through the crowd. Her pale eyes and paler face looked confused, a little sad, and strangely empty. He looked away, returning his attention to the conversation of his companions, but felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristling. If he looked again, he was sure she would still be watching him.

Rhett listened to Hugh and Andy, but his mind was not on their conversation. His thoughts returned to Scarlett, though he steeled himself not to turn back in her direction. She had been correct on the ride over. He could admit that privately despite her protestations and his own words, he hadn't fully believed that she had, as he had said, transferred her tempestuous affections from Ashley to himself. Perhaps he'd even thought that once he'd left town she'd find her change of heart was not so permanent. She had not proven him wrong. She had not proven anything.

Rhett began to lift his empty hand to take a drink, then covered the motion by needlessly running his fingers through his hair instead. Her feelings, whatever they were, no longer mattered to him. He drew his focus back to his surroundings.

"Never thought Ashley would be one for going North," Andy was saying. "Sure took us by surprise to hear about the move."

"I assumed he didn't want to stay in this house with Mrs. Wilkes gone, but sure Macon would have been more likely. And doesn't he have family in Virginia? It is a surprise that he's going so far north."

"And Miss India to go with him. I know Miss Pitty's just been in a state. Of course, she's been in one since India moved out last fall—"

Hugh chortled. "Miss Pittypat's been in a state since she was born, Andy."

Andy smiled. "Well I suppose that's true. Still, I think she's always expected India to change her mind. Or should I say, to realize the error of her ways. Pitty's always been beside herself about living alone, and now to think that strangers would move into the house berhind hers! I gather she's afraid the new neighbors might creep through her backyard in the middle of the night."

Everyone chuckled.

Scarlett had returned, as if drawn by his glance. He felt her small hand sliding under his elbow to press on his sleeve with damp heat. She crowded him almost indecently, so close he could feel her body brush his with every breath. Despite his cool thoughts, he felt his blood rise to betray himself.

"Dilcey can stay with her," Scarlett interrupted. Andy and Hugh bowed their heads.

"Mrs. Butler," said Hugh, "Good evening, Scarlett. I didn't see you come up."

"I have plenty of practice sneaking up on you, Hugh."

"That is a fact," Hugh laughed. "You'll never find anyone shirking their duties at Kennedy's, for you're sure to catch them red-handed before they even knew you'd stepped on the floor."

Scarlett dimpled. "I was only saying, Dilcey can go to stay with Aunt Pitty. She won't be leaving with Ashley. Uncle Peter's getting old, and he can't take care of Pitty by himself anymore. It would be just perfect."

"How thoughtful," Rhett murmured, more for Scarlett than their small audience. He felt her fingers twitch, but she kept her hand on his arm.

Sarah Bonnell approached the small group with a bright smile. "Mr. Bonnell," she said sweetly, "it's getting late, don't you think?"

Andy pantomimed an exaggerated bow. "Gentlemen, my lady calls. Goodnight Hugh, Rhett, Mrs. Butler."

The men chorused goodnight while Sarah squeezed Scarlett's free hand and the ladies exchanged their own farewells. Hugh excused himself after the Bonnells.

The Butlers stood silently a moment against the wall, a small island in the crowd, with several feet between them and the nearest guests.

"Well, Scarlett. I'd like to say my goodbyes. I can send the carriage back for you." Her fingers twitched again, and he felt her body stiffen. Her shoulder rose higher against his own.

"I don't need to stay, Rhett," she said in a low voice.

"I suppose you'll say your goodbyes to Ashley in private, of course."

She pulled her hand away at last. "Why do you keep doing this?" she asked under her breath. "You're the one hanging on to Ashley, not me."

Scarlett moved away from him with small, quick steps, her bustle twitching with the speed of her irritated stride. Rhett pulled himself away from the wall to follow her at a distance. He observed her swift exchange with India before he stepped in to express his own thanks. From India, Scarlett went to Ashley; Rhett went to stand by the door. He meant to leave and wait in their carriage, but stopped himself at the threshold. He would wait for her. After his needling remarks, she might think he really had left without her.

"It was a lovely party, Ashley," Scarlett was saying.

"I'm so glad you could come. I wasn't sure you would."

"Don't be silly, Ashley. Of course I would come."

"I know you aren't happy with me."

"Fiddle-dee-dee. Oh, Ashley, how could I be happy that you're moving so far away? But if you really think it's best for you and Beau - of course you have my support."

"Thank you, Scarlett. I know I've done wrong b—"

"Ashley, hush," Scarlett hissed, throwing a quick, worried look around the still-crowded house. Her eyes found Rhett over by the door and she drew up.

"You haven't done anything, Ashley," she said, without looking back to the other man. Her eyes were locked with Rhett's own, unfathomable black. "I hope you'll be happy in Chicago. Melly would want you to be happy."

"Thank you," Ashley said again. She jerked her eyes from Rhett and kissed Ashley's cheek.

"Good night, Ashley. I hope you'll honor our Sunday suppers until you leave."

"Of course. Beau and I wouldn't miss them for anything." She turned her own smooth cheek for his kiss, but her gaze went back to Rhett.

"Good night," she repeated with a distracted lilt, pulling away even before Ashley had returned completely upright.

"Charming," Rhett murmured as he took her arm and they went out the narrow front door.

"Don't start again," Scarlett returned in the same low tones.

"I was merely expressing my appreciation for you, _my dear_ ," he said, deliberately.

At the carriage, Rhett helped her up with one hand hard against her waist and her fingers caught too tightly in his own. The carriage was dark, and roomy enough that their bodies barely touched during the short drive home. There was an almost palpable tension in the air. He had been prodding her all night, yet he couldn't resist another jab.

"I pictured a much more touching goodbye," Rhett said.

"Stop it!" she cried. "Just stop it. I can't listen to you anymore. You won't hear a word I say, but you go on and on like I'm supposed to just hang off every word from your mouth. You are wrong, Rhett. You don't have to admit it, if you can't, but you look like a fool to keep bringing up things you know nothing about."

"After being married to you for six years, I hardly think I know nothing about you and Ashley Wilkes."

"Why won't you let it go?" Scarlett asked plaintively.

"Because I don't believe that you have done so, so easily."

"Then why do you care?" she retorted. "You don't love me. You don't give a damn about me. Why do you come back if you don't care?"

"Curiosity. I find I am endlessly curious about the inner workings of your mind, your elastic morality, your dubious motives. You are an interesting experiment, my pet."

Scarlett sat back abruptly against the seat, her breath coming out in a huff. If she had thought to trap him in something, he had neatly sidestepped her.

They were still silent when the carriage circled their drive and came to a halt in front of the large, dark house. Scarlett was stiff as Rhett helped her down the small steps, and pulled away as soon as both her feet touched the drive. He followed her tense form into the house. Hattie and Pork hovered near the door, ready to take their things. He dismissed their approach with a jerk of his chin. Scarlett's head was high and she shivered when his large hands closed over her thrown-back shoulders. Her fingers fumbled in the process of undoing her cloak, but completed the task. He drew the wrap from her and tossed it carelessly over the umbrella stand, its long folds forming a velvet puddle on the dark rug. Silently, they both removed gloves, his hat and her bonnet, the discarded accessories filling the console table.

The hallway was dark. One lamp was lit, ready to be taken upstairs. The moon was bright, but could not penetrate the heavy drapes Scarlett had chosen for her home.

"Good night, Rhett," Scarlett murmured. "Thank you again for coming back for this." She stopped with a foot on the stairs and her hand gently cupped the lion's head on the newel post. "Will I see you in the morning?" she asked lightly, as if the question and its answer were of no import.

"Scarlett—"

She turned to face him, and her outthrust jaw and furrowed brow were defiant. "If you're going to lie, I'd rather you didn't answer at all."

He shut his mouth. They stared at each other for a long minute.

"The children would appreciate it if you wrote to them, I think. They miss you. They would like to know when they might see you."

He nodded and shoved his fists in his coat pockets.

"Well. Good night, Rhett," she repeated, and turned again to climb the stairs.

That night – that other party, that other night – he had hoped and feared the truth of her heart. Had he imagined it? Suddenly he wanted to know. He wanted the clarity of sobriety, wanted to have a memory he could trust - not the memory of a confused, drunken night that carried an impression more erotic than anything he had ever experienced but that, for the life of him, he could not actually recall in any detail. Would it be different, if she loved him?

Rhett held himself carefully in check as he watched her walk up the stairs until her gown blended with the darkness, until even the white satin on the train was barely a glimmer of grey above his head.

"Good night, Scarlett," he said at last, before going to the dining room to pour himself a drink.

 _Notes: For the style I envisioned for Scarlett's dress (but not the color), loo_ _k for "Deep red silk and ivory grosrain evening dress" - misspelling of grosgrain is part of the name on the site so keep it. You want the back view from museumoflondonprints (I'm not at all fond of the front of the dress and imagine the bodice quite differently)._


	10. Chapter 10

_Atlanta, Georgia, April 1874_

Scarlett awoke Saturday morning, her mouth dry and a ginger curl tickling her lips. She smoothed her left hand down Ella's disordered hair, and the curl pulled free. As her hand passed, her daughter's curls flattened briefly before the static frizz lifted them again in a red cloud. She rolled onto her back, careful not to disturb the child, though the movement left her right arm trapped somewhat awkwardly underneath Ella's body.

A sharp line of daylight pouring out from a crack in the window drapes cut a diagonal path across the cream paint on the high ceiling. She traced it from above her head until it stabbed into the dark red wall. Even the bright morning sun couldn't fight the oppressive weight of it all.

Rhett would be gone, of course. He hadn't said as much, but she wasn't so obtuse and stupid she couldn't figure that out. Just as in December, he had fulfilled his obligation as he saw it. He had been more than clear that there was nothing keeping him in Atlanta, nothing worth staying for.

"Fiddle-dee-dee," she said out loud. Ella stirred and rolled over, freeing Scarlett's arm enough that she could pull her hand out from underneath her daughter without fear of waking her. She crossed both her arms over her chest and glared at the daylight. She wondered if he would at least listen to her about writing to the children. She didn't care, of course, but it would comfort Ella and maybe, just maybe, soften Wade. Maybe they would know where he was if he wrote her children; maybe they would know when he was coming home. Wade and Ella would like that.

She turned her head towards Ella and watched her daughter sleep. Her small mouth hung open just a bit, and a curl grazing the corner of her lips fluttered with every breath. Ella was growing up. Her hair was still the unfortunate pale red of Frank Kennedy's but her face no longer looked like that of an old man or, as Scarlett had thought in even less charitable moments, a monkey. She still struggled to concentrate on anything for long, including sitting still at table, but she was earnest and kind. Scarlett felt her daughter's kindness must be Melanie's legacy. She knew with painful honesty that Ella would not have learned that from herself, or Rhett. What better gift could she have from her friend and only champion but a daughter with the same loving heart? During her first battle with nightmares, back at Tara, Melanie had been her comfort, just as Ella was now.

It both heartened Scarlett and saddened her, that without Melanie it seemed her closest friend had become her seven-year-old daughter. There was no one to replace Melanie as confidante and defender, but at least there was someone in the world still who loved her.

Perhaps Mammy could be persuaded to come back from Tara. She would be a great help with Wade. Prissy was adequate, barely; but the children loved Mammy. They should all go visit Tara soon. It would be beautiful in the spring. Or they could go for a longer stay when the school term was over. The children had missed the beginning of the year when she had been lost in grief, and she didn't want to pull them out early as well. But if she could wait until June, they could go for a week or longer. That would give her plenty of time to win Mammy back. Yes, they would go to Tara. The store was doing positive business again. The income was nothing like it had been in past years, but business was stable enough that she could force herself to trust Hugh to manage things for a bit. Things could only be better by June.

Ella mumbled in her sleep and rolled over, hiding her face from the daylight that was beginning to brighten the room. Scarlett brushed a careless kiss over the wild curls that had escaped her daughter's braid and carefully slipped herself out of bed. She hummed under her breath as she crept into her closet and selected a green velvet wrapper she hadn't worn in years. The richness of the color reminded her of Tara, and she thought happily of how beautiful the plantation would look when she saw it again in the bloom of life.

Ella was still sleeping when Scarlett had finished brushing out her hair and tied it back again with a new ribbon that matched the wrapper. Still buzzing with happiness from thoughts of Tara, she sat next to her daughter on the edge of her bed and, brushing curls from Ella's forehead, said in a bright singsong voice, "Time to wake up, layabed. It is late, Ella. You must not be so lazy," and in the glow of her happiness the memory of her mother, who had often said those same words, filled her voice with unusually loving warmth and raised no specter of grief to darken her eyes.

Ella, waking up, had never seen her mother look so happy. That those warm eyes, that joyful smile picking up the pink corners of her mother's lips, could be for her filled her own heart. She loved her mother so much. Why couldn't Mother be like this all the time, this happy stranger who said her name with a smile instead of a cross reprimand? As she did every morning, Ella vowed to herself that she would be good. Maybe today, she wouldn't spill anything, or rip her dress, or play too loudly when Mother needed to concentrate. Maybe today, Mother would be this happy all day.

Scarlett kissed Ella's head again. "Go get your slippers and your robe, Ella, and we can go down for breakfast together. I'll wait for you by the stairs. Go on, now."

Mother and daughter went down the stairs hand-in-hand. Scarlett was exuberant, enlivened by her plans. She swung their clasped hands high as Ella jumped from step to step, and started to chant an old rhyme. Ella caught on quickly and timed each leap to the end of a line, her jumps growing less graceful as her enthusiasm mounted and her legs flew up akimbo.

"Pease porridge hot," Scarlett trilled and Ella jumped. "Pease porridge cold," jump. "Pease porridge in the pot," jump. "Nine days old. Some like it hot," jump. "Some like it cold," jump. "Some like it in the pot," jump. "Nine-days-old!" With the last line, they both hopped down the last three steps and Scarlett burst out laughing. Ella grinned and wrapped her arms around her mother's waist, leaning into Scarlett while her mother collected herself. This was a new, even more wonderful side to her mother, which Ella had never seen or dreamed existed. Scarlett had sometimes read her stories, or halfheartedly tried to join her with her dolls, but never before had her mother truly been _fun_.

Scarlett wrapped one arm around Ella's shoulders and pressed her other hand across her collarbones as she caught her breath. Her cheeks had flushed with embarrassment. Thank goodness Rhett would have left already and no one was around to see her. She didn't know what could have come over her, to act like a child again. But it _had_ been fun. Still smiling, she pulled back from Ella and grasped her hand as they made their way into the dining room.

Scarlett stopped short. Rhett's unmistakable black and silver head rose still above the back of the first chair. Rhett hadn't left! A wild bubble of joy rose in her throat, pushing her spirits even higher. Her cheeks flushed a deeper red - he must have heard them on the stairs. Oh, she would die if he teased her about her unladylike behavior, or made a cruel comment on her motherhood. Hastily, she dropped Ella's hand, and squeezed her own into fists.

Ella saw nothing out of the ordinary in her stepfather's presence at the breakfast table. He had been home for nearly a week, after all. And why wouldn't he stay? With her mother's skill at ignoring unpleasant truths, she brushed off the thoughts of how he had left so abruptly after their happy Christmas, without even saying goodbye. With childish optimism, she woke every day knowing Uncle Rhett would be at home, and she would do so until he broke her small heart again.

The little girl skipped happily into the room while her mother stood frozen, and coming to Rhett's side she pressed a kiss to his swarthy cheek.

"Good morning, Uncle Rhett! Did you have a very nice party last night?"

Rhett lifted an arm to squeeze his stepdaughter. "It was a very fine party, Ella. It sounded like you were having something of a party yourself out in the hall."

Ella beamed and Scarlett dug her nails into her palms, waiting for the blow. "Oh yes, Uncle Rhett. Mother sang this funny song and I jumped down all the stairs."

Rhett gave Ella a gentle shove towards her seat as he finally turned to look at Scarlett, a statue in the doorway. "Did she indeed?"

Scarlett lifted her chin. Her cheeks burned, and she knew they must be very red, but she would not give him any more than that. She moved stiffly around the table as Ella climbed onto her knees in her chair and reached an arm across the table for the bowl of muffins.

"Ella, " Scarlett snapped, "sit down and don't reach like a monkey. You must ask someone to pass to you."

Ella's face fell and her chin quivered as she looked up at her mother's face, set back in its sharp and disapproving lines. She slid off her knees and dropped her eyes. "Yes, Mother." Ella swallowed. "Uncle Rhett, would you please pass the muffins?" she mumbled.

"Ella," said Rhett kindly. She looked up just in time to see a yellow corn muffin come flying at her. She laughed as she caught it with both hands in her lap. Rhett winked.

Scarlett scowled at him. "Rhett," she began, "how will -"

"I thought we were having fun, Scarlett," he cut her off. "It is Saturday morning, the sun is shining, your daughter is happy." Ella nodded around a mouthful of muffin. Rhett bent forward slightly and pinned Scarlett with his dark eyes. She searched his face reluctantly, but could find no trace of teasing. He didn't look cool and distant, either. One corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes crinkled. They flashed briefly with something familiar, but it was gone before she could place it. Still, he looked almost kind, and maybe even happy. She wasn't sure how to recognize "happy" in her husband's face, but she was painfully familiar with his jeers, and she saw no sign of mockery.

Scarlett's earlier lightheartedness was not restored, but her shoulders relaxed. She nodded at him, one downward jerk of her chin, then turned to Ella. Her smile was apologetic, Ella's bright and beaming.

The muffin bounced off her cheek. "Rhett!" she shrieked, but her indignation could barely be heard above the combined laughter of her husband and daughter. Scarlett looked around, but the muffin had rolled somewhere out of sight.

"What's so funny?" Wade's voice cracked from the doorway.

"Nothing at all," lied Rhett smoothly as he tossed one last muffin blindly over his shoulder. Scarlett watched Wade easily snatch it out of the air one-handed, confusion still evident on his face. "Come have some breakfast, son."

After Scarlett had dressed, she stood behind her bedroom door with ears pricked. Prissy had taken Ella after breakfast and Wade had gone outside with Rhett. She wanted to go out to the store without seeing any of them. She felt, dimly, that Ella would be hurt that she didn't stay home. Wade was always unpredictable, as was Rhett, for that matter. Rhett had been unbelievably genial during breakfast. He had been teasing but kind; she had almost forgotten herself. Everything had been so light - it had been too easy to forget how Rhett had prodded her last night, how he mocked, even how despite his continued stay in their home, they were not living again as husband and wife.

He had been solicitous of everyone, taking it upon himself to act as host. He had collected plates and filled them with breakfast food to each individual's taste. When Scarlett's coffee cup had been drained, he had even come around the table to fill it himself. And as he bent low beside her to pour from the silver urn, his head had come so close to her own she could feel the heat of his face on her skin. She had clenched her jaw against the urge to turn her head and brush a kiss against his cheek, just like Ella had done so carelessly in her own greeting, and fled the table before she'd finished the fresh cup.

Rhett may have been extending his stay, but she could not neglect the store. She just didn't want to talk to anyone on her way out. The house was silent. Ella was either still in the nursery, or had gone out to join her brother and stepfather. She had sent Hattie out with word that she wanted her buggy ready - hopefully Rhett and Wade were nowhere near the carriage house. They shouldn't need to come and find her even if they did see the carriage leaving, but Rhett couldn't be trusted. The house seemed clear. She would worry about the next obstacle if she encountered it.

Scarlett's luck held, and she had the reins in hand and was driving away from the house without having run across any children, servants, or unpredictable husbands.

Rhett heard the noise of the horse being harnessed and the gritty rumble of the buggy wheels over the gravel drive. He heard the snap of the reins in Scarlett's hands, and the snap of her voice as she urged the horse on. Rhett narrowed his focus on the spike Pork had driven into the ground and let his horseshoe fly before he allowed himself to lift his head. The only trace of Scarlett's departure was the blue haze blowing off the gravel.

There was a chill on the breeze despite the cloudless sky, but tossing the heavy shoes under full sunlight kept the touch of cold at bay. A ring of metal on metal drew Rhett's attention back from the disappearing evidence of Scarlett's flight. Wade's brow was furrowed and his mouth disfigured by a bitter frown as he tossed another shoe. Near the boy's feet, his overgrown bear of a dog rested a massive head on paws the size of dinner plates and whined every time a horseshoe clanged against the spike.

"You got a ringer, Uncle Rhett," Wade called as he collected the four shoes they were tossing while they waited for Frank Bonnell.

"Wade," Rhett took his pair from the boy, "how would you like to go riding again tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir!" Wade replied smartly. "I would like that very much, sir."

Rhett smiled and clapped him on the shoulder before lining up a new throw. "I was thinking we could make it a family outing."

"Sir?"

"Ella can ride with me. If we are very persuasive, we might even get your mother to come with."

He launched the second shoe and it circled the spike before flying off. Rhett turned to Wade with raised eyebrows.

"If - if you think so..." Wade was stone-faced as he moved into position to throw his own shoes.

"She's been very busy, hasn't she?"

Wade collected the shoes again.

"Your mother, that is." Rhett threw another ringer. "Is she always working so much?"

Wade shrugged, then cleared his throat when Rhett looked to him for an answer. "I suppose so."

"Does she spend much time with you and Ella?"

Wade was caught. Yes, he had been spending very much time with his mother, now that he was under her thumb and working at the store nearly half of every day. He did not want Rhett to know about that, to know he was being punished; to have to confess why. In his stepfather's imposing presence, he felt that running away had been weak.

"Wade?"

It was useless to try and lie to Rhett. His tongue felt swollen just thinking of what to say. "I've been helping at the store," he mumbled, examining the horseshoes in his hands.

"That's fine, Wade. You'll own her store, one day. It's smart of you to know how it works."

Wade lifted his head slightly, looking at Rhett from underneath a fall of soft brown curls. He hadn't thought of that. "Yes, sir?"

"Your throw, son," Rhett said. He stepped back to make room for his stepson. His fishing expedition on Scarlett's potential exercise of newfound motherhood had not turned up any answers he was expecting. If anything, he was less sure of what was going on during his absences from Atlanta. Ella seemed closer to her mother, but still cowed by her temper. It was clear, and had been in December, that all was not well between Wade and Scarlett.

And what, Rhett wondered, did he owe her?

...

Scarlett paced the empty aisles of the store, stopping every few steps to needlessly straighten and tidy the displays. Outside the large front windows and locked door, the sky was dark. The sun had set almost an hour before. If she didn't leave soon, she would not have time to change for supper. She had worked through dinner, worked through closing time, worked while her employees went home to their own families. After Hugh Elsing had locked the door, she had left her office to wander the floor. She sorted by color, by size, she made minute adjustments to line up the edges of boxes and tried to create some sense of order in the large bins of soft goods.

She knew she was avoiding home - avoiding Rhett, specifically. He had stayed. She had been so sure, after he did not answer her last night, that he would leave before the house was awake. Why had he stayed? It was almost worse that he had stayed. She wondered when he would leave. Would he say goodbye? Would she go to bed every night in this uncertain limbo? How could he do this to them? The longer he stayed, the harder it would be when he left.

It was almost worse to think about the other possibility. What if he never left? Would they continue like this, fall back into the old patterns of a marriage in name only? Or did he, could he, love her again?

She slapped a pair of gloves back on the shelf. That possibility made her heart beat wildly, made a bubble of joy expand until she couldn't breathe. That was why she couldn't go home. She had tried not to cling to hope; tried and failed. She didn't want to go home and see that bland distance in his eyes again. She knew she wanted more. For the first time in her life, she _wanted_ to be married. And the cool politeness was no longer enough; the curb bit that had restrained him in the first short years of their life together would never be enough again.

A life together. When had they ever had a life together? In the months before her pregnancy, and the year that comprised carrying Bonnie, the birth of their daughter, and those few short weeks before she turned him out of their bedroom. No, not even then; if she really thought about it, it seemed their only life together had been their honeymoon in New Orleans. Even that languid summer in the hotel suite had been too often strained by her heedless focus on building her house. Her house, not theirs. And not even their daughter had been "theirs," for Rhett had done all he could to make Bonnie his daughter alone.

This was what she wanted, the chance to win him back. Why was she still at the store, why was she letting herself be trapped by thoughts of the past, by things she could not change? She was not a coward.

Once her mind was made up, she moved briskly. She took up the lamp she had placed on the shelf back into her office, her skirts snapping around her ankles. Scarlett collected her reticule, extinguished the lamps, and slipped out the side door. The horse flicked its eyes at her.

"Yes, we've been here too long," she murmured, running her hand along its back as she approached. "It's time to go home."

By the time Scarlett had changed from the drab grey, high-necked dress she had worn to work, her fragile little family was already seated at table. The frock she had chosen was a pale green that matched her eyes and made them glow with a complementary sheen. The square neck was cut low to expose the tops of her breasts, framed with a narrow strip of lace. She was too pale, always too pale these days, with stark eyes from lack of sleep. But she rubbed rouge into her cheeks and hoped that would offset the fragile purple skin under her eyes. She had carefully pulled pins from her hair until a few soft curls tumbled around her shoulders. Even after being put up damp and pinned all day, her thick hair would not hold a fashionable ringlet. She remembered with longing the false bunch of curls Rhett had tossed in the fire years before. At least he seemed to prefer her natural hair, even if it never behaved as she would like.

Supper lacked that lighthearted, teasing atmosphere that had so thrown her at breakfast, and she was utterly unprepared for Rhett's suggestion.

"I was thinking, Scarlett, and Wade agreed, we should all go for a ride tomorrow."

Scarlett carefully replaced her fork beside her plate. "A ride, Rhett?"

His grin was sly and straight underneath the trimmed edge of his black moustache. "You can still ride, can't you, my dear?"

She bristled immediately. "Of course I can ride. But what about Wade - and Ella?"

"I know how to ride, Mother," Wade said defensively. "I'll take the pony. Ella can ride with Uncle Rhett."

When Rhett turned to Ella, his profile softened. "Would that be all right, Ella? You can sit in front of me."

Ella did not care for any animal bigger than Old Tom or the shy grey-striped cat that had been Bonnie's kitten and was now rarely seen around the house. Ella loved the cats; but she shied away from horses, or the pony, or even Wade's dog. Though her heart squeezed with fear, she loved her Uncle Rhett more than her fear, and wanted above all else to please him so he would stay at home. She was more afraid that disappointing Uncle Rhett would drive him away again.

"Oh, yes, please, uncle Rhett." Ella squirmed nervously in her chair, but smiled at her stepfather and in return, his smile was so pleased it made her feel very brave and grown-up.

"You see, my dear? Now I'm afraid you both can't ride with me -" he winked at Ella, and she giggled, "but as you say, of course you can ride."

Scarlett was flushed. She spoke in a low voice, as if pitched just for him though with their more intimate, casual seating plan anything audible to Rhett would be clearly heard by the children as well. "I don't know...I'm sure you'll all have more fun—"

"Scarlett," Rhett cut her off. "Say yes." His black eyes gleamed. With the size of the table, and Ella between them, he was too far away, but he stretched his arm out on the table as if reaching for her hand. _Say yes_ , she thought.

"Yes," Scarlett answered, before Ella, squirming happily on her seat, knocked over her full glass of water.

...

Scarlett had not sat a horse in years. She had not ridden purely for the pleasure of it since before the war. She still owned three riding habits; they were part of the uniform of a well-dressed lady, after all, and to Scarlett, appearance had always meant more than substance. It didn't matter if she went riding or not, all that mattered was she owned the proper things a lady should.

The choice between the unworn suits of red, blue, and green, was no choice at all. Blue was out of the question; she should get rid of that dress. She could send it to Suellen. It would have to be let out, but it might fit. Scarlett would never wear it.

When she was dressed in the dark forest green, Scarlett sat at her vanity, turning her head to admire herself. The charming matching green top hat, draped with black netted swags, perched on her glossy black hair that Hattie had carefully looped and pinned. She thought it the most charming look and regretted that she had not found an occasion to wear it sooner. As she peered at her face, her shoulders drooped. Despite her exhaustion, she had not slept well, and the fragile skin under her eyes was even darker than the day before. It seemed she had lain awake half the night, her ears alert for any sound of movement in the house - any hint that it had all been a cruel joke, and Rhett was leaving in the night after all. Even once she had fallen asleep, her rest had been fitful and light. Any and every sound had stirred her awake. She had worn the green habit to bring out her eyes, but she found herself tugging down the net veil on her hat until it brushed the tops of her cheekbones, which she rubbed gently with rouge to alleviate her sleep-deprived pallor. The brim of the hat cast its own shadow, and with the veil it made it hard to see the strain on her skin. She hoped it would stand up to Rhett's typical, seemingly casual but deceptively intense scrutiny. He saw too much, and sooner or later all pretenses fell apart under his attention.

There was a knock at her door, and her pulse fluttered in her throat.

"Yes?" she called out, and breathed a silent thanks for the strength in her voice.

"The children are waiting, my dear," came Rhett's low reply through the thick door. She thought of Rhett outside her door; thought of opening it to let him in.

"I'll be down in a moment," she answered, and sat still until the sound of his footsteps had faded. When the hall was quiet again, she tugged needlessly at the tight cuffs on her wrists, smoothed the front of her bodice, and adjusted her veil. That would have to do for ready.

The horses and pony were saddled out front. Rhett was crouched down next to the bushes that edged the veranda, peering at something under their leafy cover with Wade and Ella. Wade was gesticulating excitedly as they discussed the matter at hand. Scarlett stood at the top of the steps and cleared her throat. Her throat tightened when she saw Wade's arm still and his shoulders stiffen, but Ella sprang to her feet and came running up the short flight of stairs to wrap her arms around her mother. Rhett rose slowly, and his eyes swept over her from toe to tip as he stood. She knew she was flushed under the artificial color of the rouge.

"Ready, my pet?" Rhett asked, extending a small bow that mocked with its careless flourish.

She shrugged off Ella's hug. "Yes. Where are you taking us, may I ask?"

"I'm not taking us anywhere. We'll go wherever we like. Wade," Rhett raised his voice slightly, for Wade had moved away to busy himself with needlessly checking the pony's saddle and reins. "Would you like to lead the way?"

"Uncle Rhett?" Wade asked, drawing himself up.

"Why don't you pick our path. You shall be our fearless leader, General Hampton, and as your loyal soldiers we will of course follow where you go."

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "How you do run on," she murmured as she swept down the steps and past her husband, skirts in hand.

Wade threw a smart salute. Where had he picked that up, she wondered. Not Rhett - Ashley? She remembered that Wade wanted to be a soldier, like his father. A chill rippled down her spine as she stood by the small bay horse saddled for her. She thought of all the soldier boys she had lost.

"Wherever did you learn to do that, Wade?" she snapped. When his brown eyes turned to glare at her, she knew she was already ruining this bizarre family outing. Why had Rhett wanted her to come along?

"Uncle Ashley taught me and Beau. He said he'd teach me lots of things, so I'll be ahead of all the other boys when it's my turn to join the army." Gerald's stubborn chin, which she had never thought to see in her placid son, jutted fiercely out above his stiff, proud shoulders.

"I already told you, Wade," Scarlett began, unable as always to resist being baited.

"Scarlett," Rhett's voice whispered under the brim of her hat. She jumped. She hadn't realized he'd come so close. "Stop." She took a breath, smelling the horse and, faintly, cigar smoke. She started again when she felt Rhett's large hands slide along her waist. "Let him be." Scarlett nodded.

"You will make a fine soldier, Wade," Rhett spoke in a carrying voice before quieting again. "May I help you up?"

Scarlett nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "Rhett, I—"

Rhett crouched beside her and knotted his fingers to form a stirrup. He rose, effortlessly boosting her up to the saddle. She hooked the pommel under her knee and settled her seat carefully. Rhett grabbed the reins and brought them back to her hands.

"I'm sorry, Rhett," she murmured to the top of his head.

"Just let the boy be, Scarlett. Let's have fun today." He rested one warm palm on her thigh. "Whatever makes you mad, just try to let it go. I promise you can take it all out of my hide when we get back."

His black eyes were unreadable. She nodded, and lifted her chin primly. "With pleasure."

Rhett checked Wade's seat, then grabbed his own casual straw hat from the veranda railing.

"Are you ready, Miss Ella?"

Ella's freckles stood out in her pale face, but she nodded.

"I'll hold you the whole time. I know you're a very brave girl, Ella."

The girl smiled weakly. Rhett swung himself up on his horse, then reached down. Pork easily lifted the little girl into Rhett's arms, and he settled her carefully in front of him. She had a pair of Wade's old breeches under her skirts. Rhett was sure Mammy would have disapproved heartily of this plan, but it had seemed the best way to get Ella on a horse and feeling safe about it. And what Mammy didn't know—

They rode out of town, crisscrossing the countryside at random following the slow trot set by Wade and the pony. Some of these paths were the same ones that Rhett had torn down with Bonnie, but with the slower paced coupled with Ella's almost unbroken narration, it all felt almost new. He focused on Ella's excitement, kept his eyes sharply on Wade, and forced his mind to follow new paths. He forced down the thoughts of how his little girl would never reach the august old age of his seven-year-old stepdaughter. With sober determination, he stayed fully in the present.

When the sun was high in the sky, Rhett reined in his horse and called to Wade.

"General Hampton, I believe it's time to return for mess."

Wade looked back over his shoulder. "What's that, Uncle Rhett?"

"I think we should go back for dinner now. It's getting late." He looked down at the top of Ella's white cotton bonnet. "What do you say, Miss Ella? Are you hungry?"

Ella wiggled. "Yes - and I'm hot. My bonnet itches. But I want to see more bunnies."

"I'm sure we'll see some on the way home." Rhett lifted an eyebrow at Scarlett, who had drawn rein a few feet away. "I won't ask if you're hungry, Mrs. Butler." Rhett spoke in an ostentatious false whisper into Ella's ear. "Let's just be careful your mother doesn't catch one of your bunnies, Ella. If she gets hungry enough, she might eat it." Ella clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her giggle, and Scarlett glared at him. He winked.

"Can you lead the way home, General Hampton?"

"Yes, sir."

The last block of Peachtree Street before their home was unusually clear of traffic. Wade slowed until Rhett was at his side. "Could we race, Uncle Rhett?"

Rhett looked down at Ella, who had been calmly content and seemingly unafraid once settled on the horse. "Well, that's up to your sister, I think. Ella, would you be alright if we raced Wade the rest of the way home?"

Ella nodded, her bonnet brim dipping up and down. "Yes! I'm sure you can go faster than Wade, Uncle Rhett."

"Scarlett," Rhett drawled, "why don't you be our judge. Ride up to the drive, that will be the finish line."

Scarlett pulled her horse up close to Rhett's. She leaned over, whispering over his shoulder to keep her words from reaching Ella. "Rhett, I'm not sure this is a good idea. This is the first time Ella has been at all happy about being near a horse. And—" she stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Unwilling to say her name. _And Bonnie_. What if something went wrong?

Her heart stopped as Rhett reached out to cup her cheek. "Everyone will be fine, Scarlett," he said with surprising gentleness. His fingers brushed the edge of her black net veil. She swallowed hard. What was Rhett doing?

Scarlett rode up to the house. An observant stable boy, lounging with a view down the gravel drive, saw her coming and trotted up to take the horse. She dismounted at the carriage block and let him lead the bay away, then walked to take up a position against one of the lion-topped stones that marked the entry. She lifted a hand to the racers at the bottom of the hill. Pork, perhaps alerted to their return by the activities of the boy, came around from the side of the house.

"Are you ready, Ella? Wade?" Rhett questioned.

"Yes, Uncle Rhett!"

"Yes, sir."

Rhett squeezed Ella between his arms. He'd let Wade charge ahead on the pony. He was confident of Wade's skill in this short race; they'd spent much of the afternoon with Frank Bonnell the day before having the boys take turns on the pony, racing against Rhett. Big for a pony, it was nevertheless not at all a match for Rhett's big black horse and he knew he could win easily if the horse had its head.

"On your marks - Ella, grip his mane - ready? Go!"

The horses lunged forward. Ella cheered briefly, but Rhett's controlled speed let Wade overtake them and soon she was coughing from a cloud of dust. When her eyes started to water, she couldn't see at all. Wet, irritated eyes began to turn to real tears. The air was dirty but bright with sunlight glare, and the hooves of the horse sounded suddenly too loud in her ears. She started to squirm, crying out. "I want to stop! I want to stop! Uncle Rhett? Where's mother?"

The horse crossed the "finish line." The cloud from Wade's passing was dissipating, but Ella was already distraught. Rhett dropped the reins and they were quickly grabbed by Pork. Ella had started to thrash. Rhett wrapped both arms around her and tried to whisper in her ear, but she was kicking frantically - and dangerously - at the horse.

Scarlett came running up. "I knew, I told you, this was a bad idea - this whole day - she's never liked horses—"

"Quiet, Scarlett," Rhett snapped. "Can you take her? She has to get off the horse."

Scarlett came close to the stirrup and he swung Ella's leg back over the horse before sliding her down to her mother. Ella had grown far too big for Scarlett to carry easily. She dropped to her knees and cradled Ella against her chest while Rhett carefully guided the horse away.

"Ella," she said, trying to get her daughter's attention, and not knowing what else to say. For once, she had no desire to snap at the child; they had all known Ella's fears and she'd let Rhett go ahead with his plan any way. It wasn't Ella's fault she had become upset. But without annoyance, Scarlett wasn't sure how else to respond to tears. She patted the small back awkwardly. The little girl's arms were hard around Scarlett's neck. Her hat had been knocked askew and the veil was itching her forehead. Scarlett felt more than saw Rhett kneel beside her, but he did not try to take this daughter from her arms.

Gradually, Scarlett became aware that Ella's sobs were forming actual words. She tried to listen, though most of what her daughter was saying was still incoherent.

"No more horses," Ella hiccoughed.

"No, precious, you don't have to ride any horses."

"I - I don't—"

"You don't have to."

"No, no - don't understand—"

"What don't we understand, Ella?" Rhett's deep voice cut easily through the ruckus. The little girl lifted a pale face, with tears streaked through the dust that had coated it.

"Bonnie!" Ella wailed, and she buried her dirty, damp face against Scarlett's bare neck. "I don't want to die."

Scarlett's eyes met Rhett's, and she froze. The warmth and charm that had characterized his demeanor for the past two days had drained from his face. He looked nearly as pale as Ella, and his black eyes stood out starkly. They were bleak and empty; the lifeless eyes she had seen after their daughter's death, the unreachable gaze of that stranger who had taken her husband's place in their house. She felt the prick of tears behind her own lashes.

Automatically, Scarlett's hand still moved over Ella's back. Wade, his pony relinquished to a groom, came around the house to join them.

"Uncle Rhett?" he asked, still avoiding direct interaction with his mother. "Is Ella alright?"

Rhett stood abruptly and his long strides carried him quickly away and into the house without a word. Wade gawped, confused, turning his head from Rhett's back, to his sister, and back up to the house. His eyebrows came together sharply.

"What did you do to them?" he accused Scarlett.

"Wade —" she began, but he had no interest in listening to her. He stormed after Rhett, calling his stepfather's name as he disappeared into the house.

The yard was quiet. Ella's sobs gradually subsided into sniffles. Scarlett, irritated by the veil that had gone askew, pulled her hat off carelessly. Some of her hair pins came loose with it and the elegant coiffure settled into a tumbled mess. Ella's fear of dying like her baby sister had only exposed their own unreconciled griefs. She wiped the point of her sleeve against the corners of her eyes to clear them, and then rested her chin gently on Ella's head. The cotton bonnet was cool against her fevered skin.

"I'm sorry Mother," Ella whispered. They sat a moment longer in silence.

"You need to get cleaned up before dinner." Scarlett rose slowly, hat in hand, and Ella scrambled up after her. "Let's go and find Prissy." She put a firm hand on the child's shoulder and propelled her into the house. It was a relief to meet Prissy at the top of the stairs and hand Ella over to her care.

"She needs to wash and change for dinner, Prissy. Do it quickly, we are already late," Scarlett instructed before she completed her escape. Safe in her own room, Scarlett rubbed the dust and tears from her face, then rang for Hattie to help her change.

Rhett was not at the dinner table. Scarlett hesitated in the doorway, but was too unsure of her reception to go seek him out - if he was even in the house. The meal was somber. Wade was quiet, and Ella uncharacteristically still, with a morose expression as she swirled her greens around on her plate. Scarlett was thankful when they both asked to be excused.

After the strained dinner, she shut herself in the study. She flipped the pages of her ledgers with unseeing eyes, trying to occupy her mind but unable to concentrate. Time seemed to crawl as she sat there, still except for her hands which flipped the large pages. In between the rustle of each turn, her ears pricked for any sound of movement in the house - listening for any sound that would identify Rhett.

Scarlett did not hear or see Rhett until nearly suppertime. Ashley and Beau had not yet arrived for their weekly engagement. Scarlett found Rhett in the parlor, leaning casually against the mantel and watching Wade and Ella, their heads bent together as Wade paged through the atlas that had been a gift from Rhett. She hesitated briefly before answering the welcoming wave of Rhett's hand and crossing to his side. When he bent to kiss her cheek, she smelled whisky, but his manners remained coolly polite. This was not the sodden, grieving man from that dark time after Bonnie's death. Scarlett relaxed, unrealized tension that had knotted up her shoulders and her lower back easing somewhat as she took this in.

Rhett had been drinking, but he was still his old self - charming, polished, with a malicious edge from the liquor, perhaps, but firmly in control of his faculties.

Still, Scarlett turned down the brandy he offered from the decanter he'd placed on the mantel. She leaned her back lightly against the thick wood slab and rested her folded hands below her waist.

"You do remember we have Ashley and Beau over for Sunday supper, don't you, Rhett?"

"Yes, my dear, I know the honorable Mr. Wilkes still graces my table more often than I do myself."

Scarlett looked at him sideways, trying to read the meaning of these words, delivered flatly and without inflection, but his face was smooth and blank.

"Well you needn't worry about that much longer. They'll be in Chicago in just a few weeks."

"Chicago will be fine in spring and summer. I believe he's in for a surprise when it's time for winter."

"Oh...have you been to Chicago, Rhett?" She had never heard him talk about it before; but then there were so many things they had never shared with each other.

"I've been there once or twice. I prefer New York, if I'm to be up North with Yankees. I've been through Chicago in the winter. My dear, I don't believe you've ever felt such cold. The wind is so cold it burns you, right through your clothing. Snow past your ankles, up to your knees in places. The animals have the right of it up there - you'd need a fur to keep you warm."

"Is that so, Rhett? Then I wouldn't mind visiting it in the winter...if you'll buy me that fur," she smirked.

Rhett laughed, a loud roar disproportionate to her coquettish tease, but more than welcome after the loss and desperation she'd seen come over his face when Ella had had her fit in the driveway. Perhaps whatever demons had been dredged up by the mention of their daughter's name had been safely put away again.

Scarlett sighed and examined her nails. "I should get a coat for Beau before they leave. If it will be as cold as you say, he'll need it. Melly would want to make sure he had the very best, of course."

"And what of Ashley?" Rhett asked quietly, unable to resist.

"What of him?" Scarlett shrugged. "He can buy his own coat. He should have the money for one, otherwise what is he taking the job for? I know I promised Melly I'd take care of them both, but there's only so much I can do for a grown man. He's choosing to go halfway across the country - and North, at that! - let him try to care for himself for a change."

A commotion in the hall alerted the family to the arrival of the Wilkeses. Wade and Ella scrambled to their feet to go see their cousin. Scarlett stood up away from the mantel, and barely heard Rhett's reply before she went to greet their guests.

"I could kiss you for saying that."

Her heart was turning somersaults as she went into the hall and let Ashley take her hands in his. As Ashley kissed Scarlett's cheek, he saw Rhett behind her in the doorway. The other man always seemed larger than life; more imposing in the flesh than you ever remembered him to be. His broad shoulders filled doorways and he had a way of making a man feel small and overshadowed. He shook Rhett's hand. And Scarlett, turning to let Rhett take her arm, tilted her face up to her husband. The smile she bestowed on Rhett, the warmth in her pink cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes, took Ashley's breath away and left him behind, utterly alone in a cold, windy orchard as she took life in hand in a way he never could.

"Where will you stay in Chicago?" Rhett enquired politely before the supper plates had been cleared. "Is your friend finding you a house?"

Ashley shook his head. "We'll all stay with him and his wife at first. They have two children close to Beau's age. He'll be able to make his first friends, and India as well, while I look for a place of our own. I suppose if it takes too long, we might try a hotel. I'd hate to put them out with an extended stay."

Rhett's eyes glinted at Scarlett with unmistakable mockery above the crystal rim of the wineglass which he tipped at her in a barely perceptible toast. She knew he was thinking of Ashley's "extended stay" at Tara after the war. The scowl she gave him seemed only to amuse him, and he winked at her.

"What will you do for Beau's schooling up here, Ashley?" she asked, pulling her attention away from Rhett with effort. "You know Melly didn't want him in Yankee schools."

"The Parkers have a tutor for their boy Tom. He's a year older than Beau, but they have invited Beau to take his lessons with Tom."

Scarlett was reluctantly impressed. Ashley was better prepared than she had expected. Maybe he really was learning to stand on his own.

"Beau," Rhett drawled, "if you want to know all the best tricks to play on a tutor, make sure you come visit again before you leave. You can join us, Wade."

Scarlett opened her mouth to snap at Rhett, but was cut off by Ashley's laughter.

"Thank you, Rhett. I'm not sure Beau needs any help on getting into trouble, though of course I can't stop you from teaching Wade Hampton a thing or two."

"Absolutely not! That's enough." At Scarlett's stricken expression, both men began to laugh. The boys had wide, worshipful eyes.

"Did you have a tutor, Uncle Rhett?" Wade asked.

"Yes, I did. I grew up on a plantation, Wade, not in town."

"Like Tara?" Ella asked.

Rhett rested his forearms on the edge of the table. "Well, Ella, Tara grows cotton. We grew rice. Rice fields are very different from cotton fields."

"How are they different?" said Wade.

"All things need water to grow," Rhett answered, "but rice actually grows in water. You have to plant it in very wet soil, and the fields have to be flooded. Not just watered, but drowned."

"Could you go swimming in the rice fields?" Wade wanted to know.

Rhett laughed. "No, son, it's not that deep. I had to go swimming in the river, just the same."

"Can we go to your plantation? What's it called? I've only ever been to Tara."

Rhett's eyes dimmed. "No," he said. "We can't go. The house was burned during the war. My family sold it."

Wade took this in, and wondered what his family would have done if Tara had been burned. He didn't remember much of the time they lived at Tara, but he knew they had gone there when the Yankees had come through Atlanta. He knew they were lucky, that many of his mother's friends had lost their homes.

Ella, not as aware of the family history as her older brother, was nonetheless struck by the idea of losing home.

"Oh, no, Uncle Rhett!" she gasped. "But where did you live?"

Rhett gave her a reassuring smile. "I already lived here, in Atlanta. And then I was in the army."

None of the children knew much of anything about the relationship between their mother and their stepfather. The timelines of history were especially befuddling to Ella.

"Did you live with Mother?" she asked.

Scarlett blushed. "No, Ella. We weren't married then. Wade was just a baby."

"I lived in my own suite of rooms at the Atlanta Hotel. It burned, too, when Sherman came."

All three children gawped. "You lived in a hotel?"

"Yes, I did. A hotel's a very nice place for a man to live. There was a fine restaurant to take my meals, and plenty of servants to clean the rooms and pick up after me. A hotel is clean, orderly, well-regulated."

 _Well-regulated_. It chimed in Scarlett's brain. _I would rather live in a well-regulated hotel._

"I like home better. Mother is at home," said Ella, having never considered Mother and home to be separate concepts.

"I agree, Ella," replied Rhett, again raising his glass in a toast.

"I think we'd better go," Ashley said softly. Scarlett blanched, realizing where the conversation had gone. She glanced at Beau; her nephew was dry-eyed but he sat rigidly in his high-backed chair, staring straight ahead.

"Oh - Ashley - I'm so sorry," she began.

"It's alright, Scarlett. It's just getting late. It's time to take Beau home for bed."

Scarlett stood, followed immediately by Rhett. "I can have Pork get the carriage," he offered, but Ashley shook his head.

"Thank you, Rhett. Beau and I enjoy the walk. Isn't that right, Beau?"

Beau had left his seat to come stand by Ashley. He nodded, and took his father's hand.

Scarlett came swiftly around the table and enfolded Beau in an awkward hug. The corners of her eyes were wet.

"We'll see you next Sunday, Beau Wilkes. And you can come and see Wade and Ella anytime you want."

"Yes, Aunt Scarlett," Beau said quietly. "Thank you for supper."

Scarlett nodded and stepped back. "Good night Beau; Ashley."

Scarlett saw them out the door. When they had gone, she heard the clatter of dishes being cleared in the dining room, and knew dessert was being served. She went into the parlor instead, and sank down onto the pink chair near the window. She watched the bent heads, one silver, one still brightly blond, until they had passed the edge of the lot and were out of sight.

She stayed there, listening to the progression of the meal in the dining room. More clattering meant dessert being cleared, and was quickly followed by the sound of small feet going up the stairs. Rhett's own footsteps were nearly silent, but when the noise of the children's passing had faded, she heard his steps moving from just outside the parlor entry and following the children up the stairs.

When the house was quiet, she rose from her chair and went back to the dining room. She poured herself a glass of brandy, and returned to her seat in the parlor.

Rhett was upstairs nearly an hour. He had shed his coat and cravat, and rolled up the crisp white shirtsleeves. After Wade and Ella had changed for bed, he'd dismissed Prissy and sat in the nursery with them, telling heavily edited stories of his childhood adventures in the low country until Ella's eyes had closed. He walked Wade to his own room and bade him goodnight. He lingered a moment in the empty hallway, his mind on a third child. It had been a long day, and brought too many reminders of the ones no longer with them.

Rhett moved quietly along the hallway. Scarlett's door was open, the room inside dark. She had not come upstairs. He hesitated, then went lightly down the stairs, his feet soundless as an Indian's. She was still in the parlor, rolling an empty glass between her hands. He could see her slippers peeking out from the cascading folds of her skirt. The toes emerged askew; she had kicked them off and pulled her legs up under her skirts and folded them sideways on the chair. It did not look particularly comfortable; even for Scarlett's petite form, her precious pink side chairs were not very roomy. Her legs were probably pressed tightly against the carved wooden arms.

Rhett entered the room and went to stand by the arm of the chair. He looked out the window, then down at the bowed black head.

"I miss her, Rhett," Scarlett said. "I miss them both."

Rhett cleared his throat and moved away to the cold fireplace, unwilling to discuss either "her."

"I wonder," she continued, oblivious to his discomfort. "If Melly hadn't died, I don't think Ashley would be leaving for Chicago. He wouldn't have a reason to leave. Melly never would have wanted to move away from Atlanta. I wonder...if Bonnie hadn't died, would you have stayed?"

Rhett did not answer. He had no response for that question, though he'd asked it of himself a dozen times. If Bonnie hadn't - but then so many things would have been different. It was an impossible question. He braced his right forearm against the wide mantel.

"I didn't know Ella was so scared," Scarlett continued eventually. "I know she's been having nightmares, but I - I never even asked her about them." She laughed, harshly. "She comes to comfort me, and I never even asked her about her own bad dreams. What kind of mother does that make me? I suppose," she answered herself, "just the kind you have always thought me to be."

They were silent. Rhett did not take the bitter bait. Scarlett set her glass on the wide window sill. "She's never liked horses. I didn't know about - about Bonnie. I never thought." When Rhett still had nothing to say, Scarlett rose and crossed to the mantel. Small fingers brushed lightly against his left sleeve as she stood too close to him. "It wasn't your fault, Rhett."

"Scarlett, don't." Rhett turned fully toward the wall, pulling his left arm out of her grasp and resting it against the mantel as well.

"Please, Rhett," she said quietly. "There are...so many things I never said, and should have. Too many things I should not have said. Too many things I cannot fix. And I know - what you said last fall. You don't want to glue broken things back together. So I know I can't fix this, but please, just let me say it." She took a deep breath, her own eyes on the wall as well, not looking at him. "I didn't mean what I said when Bonnie died. I was hurt, hurting more than I ever had before. It frightened me. I only said those things because, somehow, it seemed that hurting you made me hurt less. But I never, ever meant them."

No, it didn't draw out all that old venom, the bitterness in his veins that he'd grown used to and almost forgotten. But her soft, undeniable hand touched his arm again, and perhaps that poison had been fading or perhaps her touch and her words did draw some of it from his system. He lowered his left arm and wrapped it around her slim shoulders, pulling her into his chest. He bent his head and rested his cheek against her hair. It was slightly rough against his skin and smelled of the cologne she had taken to wearing when she married Frank. He could no longer remember the fragrance of the young widow he'd danced with at a soldiers' bazaar. They were both different now.

Scarlett had turned her head towards his, and her breath caressed his neck. If he ducked his head, her lips would meet his. The kiss was warm and gentle, and she sighed into his mouth. Her arms crossed behind his neck. He pressed her back, one arm around her waist, until her head was bent over his arm against the mantel. His mouth moved softly, slowly over hers; this kiss had little in common with the passions of the past. It was absolution, sought and bestowed and received.

Rhett broke the kiss. He dropped his forehead until it lay heavy against her bare décolletage. His mouth against her breast exhaled breath that burned through the layers of satin and cotton that clothed her. Scarlett let her arms slide down from his neck until her palms rested against his shoulders. She pressed her fingers into the tense muscle. Tentatively at first, her fingers kneaded his shoulders. Her palms curved over them, her nails occasionally pricking his skin beneath the fine fabric of his shirt. Rhett stirred. He pressed a kiss against the silk-covered rise of her breast, and when he lifted his head he could see the darkened spot left by the damp imprint of his mouth. Rhett could feel the tremor in her fingers as she slid her left hand along his shoulder until she brushed the side of his neck. Her touch felt cool against his heated skin as she cupped his jaw. Her thumb fluttered against his cheek.

When she whispered his name, he was lost. Her hand fell away as he lifted his head abruptly and claimed her mouth again, claimed her with primitive ownership and urgent desire. He slid his right arm from the mantel to grasp the back of her head, threading his fingers ruthlessly through her delicate hairstyle. He dimly heard pins plinking against the hearth beneath their feet. His left arm swept downward from her shoulders, groping his way down her back like a blind man, squeezing and pressing at her side and the curve of her waist and the flare of her hip. He bent his knees to bring his hand low on her thigh, his left arm slung under her bustle and pressed against her rear. When he stood again, he lifted her easily. Her hands on his shoulders clutched at him. He slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss with a teasing foray of his tongue between her lips. He groaned and both hands clenched on her when her tongue followed his retreat, shyly, pressing delicately against the tip of his own.

Rhett stumbled slightly, stepping away from the fireplace with its outthrust mantel. Away from obstacles, in the center of the room, he lowered Scarlett slowly to her feet, savoring the slide of her body against his. The silk of her dress hissed as it skimmed against his linen shirt. Fever clouded his mind until there was only her, Scarlett, soft and yielding, irresistibly willing. His mouth swallowed the unprecedented sounds of her own desire as he kissed her, the gentle nip of his teeth soliciting whimpers, the teasing lick of his tongue forcing urgent moans as her hands pressed fervently against him, urging him closer, he could be no closer. He was lost in her.

He pulled back from her mouth and kissed the sharp corner of her chin, made his way with lips and teeth along the hard edge of her jaw until he could kiss the softest, concave dip beneath her ear. He slipped her earlobe between his teeth and smiled at her surprised gasp. Rhett ran his right hand up her back until his fingers reached bare skin, then slowly teased the sensitive skin on the back of her neck with lightly kneading fingertips. The weight of her hands on his shoulders increased; her knees had weakened under his sensual onslaught.

Rhett kissed her again. She opened for him, eager, intoxicating. He slid his left hand up, making circles along her back, pressing against the unyielding corset beneath her dress, his right hand still teasing her neck. He brought the left around to mold his palm over her corseted form, sliding it higher until his thumb could caress the top of her breast that spilled upward from her stays. Scarlett moaned into his mouth and the sound made the blood roar in his ears, roar with desire and lustful victory. He broke the kiss and shifted his arms suddenly, bringing the right down behind her shoulders and, bending, sweeping her knees up over his left arm. She buried her face in his chest as he hurried from the parlor and took the stairs two at a time. The long strides stretched his trousers painfully across his erection but the urgency of need clawed at him with greater agony.

Up the stairs. He was carrying her up the stairs. The jostling rhythm struck a chord in Scarlett's mind, pried open an old memory of darkness and heat and desolation. She awoke as if from a dream, her swirling mind clearing gradually as desire cooled under the strain of apprehension, even fear. She pulled her head back from Rhett's chest, flattened her grasping palms and pushed at his broad shoulders. They had reached the second floor already.

"Rhett, stop," Scarlett said in a hoarse whisper.

He placed her on her feet and stepped back. Her heart constricted as she watched his face harden into old lines, implacable and unreadable. "I'm sorry, my dear. I must have misread you downstairs. Was my coarse ardor too much for you? I did get carried away." He smirked as if at a private joke.

Scarlett lifted her chin, and stepped close to him again. She was breathing heavily, and her breasts brushed his rumpled waistcoat. She put one hand on each of Rhett's shoulders and looked up into his shadowed eyes.

"Will you still be here in the morning? Are you going to run away again? Does this mean you're staying? Does it mean you love me?" His face was still unreadable. Bravely, she pressed on. "Because I love you, Rhett. I meant it. I still mean it. But the last time you kissed me, you left. The last time we - we—" she flushed, and for all her boldness was unable to form those words. She finished in a whisper, "You left then, too." She swallowed, recovering her voice. "Will I see you in the morning?" she asked, repeating her question from Friday night, its importance revealed by her hands clenching on his shoulders.

Rhett pulled away and thrust a hand through his dark hair, disheveling it. "I can't promise you that, Scarlett. Nothing has changed."

Scarlett sidestepped him and went to the banister, placing her hands on the dark, heavily carved railing. She rested her weight on it, letting the solid wood hold her up. "Nothing's changed?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"I don't love you."

"But —"

"Surely you have learned by now that bedding and loving can be different and separate things. Do you think I have loved every woman who has warmed my bed?" he asked, cruelly. "This was a mistake. I still want you, my pet. I do not deny it. But I forgot how like a child you are. You haven't just transferred your tempestuous affections to me; I should have known your romantic notions were part of the bargain. I came home for the children and the gossips. I forgot myself. It won't happen again."

He left her in the hallway, hunched over the banister, her white knuckles stark in the darkness. He left her with a lump in his throat, cruel words like rocks in his mouth. He left her with truth and lies and he wasn't sure how to tell the difference. He had extended this stay too long, become caught-up in playing the happy family. Caught up and carried away; it wouldn't be wise to stay now. He would have to leave. Retreat to Charleston, or maybe travel again. It was a retreat; a strategic move to deny the enemy. Not a loss, just not a battle he was interested in fighting. Let Scarlett raise her flag before the charge, he wouldn't be there.

Rhett sat up until dawn. He drank, slowly but steadily, until the sun rose high enough to shine painfully in his eyes. He slipped into a clean jacket and grabbed his felt slouch hat from where he had carelessly tossed it on the unused bed. His eyes were bleary, but he walked without stumbling.

Passing out of the room, he flicked his eyes over the surface of the desk along the wall. He had noticed that the necklace he had left for her at Christmas had been gone when he arrived in April. Had Pork come in to tidy the room after his departure, or a maid coming in to clean, and finding the gift, delivered it to his wife?

Rhett descended the wide front steps swiftly, and moved without stopping to throw open the front door. He was pulling it shut behind him when he heard Wade.

"Uncle Rhett!" the boy called. Rhett pushed the door back open. Wade stood in the front hall, barefoot, in a white nightshirt. Rhett grit his teeth.

"Wade, son, it's early. You should still be in bed."

"Are you leaving?" Wade asked, taking a step forward. "Are you leaving town again?"

"I have to go back to Charleston," Rhett said smoothly. "I have business to take care of there."

"Can I come with you?"

"No, Wade -"

"Please, Uncle Rhett. I - a boy should be with his father," Wade recited. "My father is dead."

"Wade, this is your home. Atlanta is your home. Your mother is here. You can't come with me. I'm sorry."

"But why not, Uncle Rhett? I could go to school in Charleston. I could go to school anywhere. Beau and Uncle Ashley are moving. I don't want to stay here."

Rhett sighed. He reentered the house and went to sit on the steps. He tapped the riser of the stair with his palm, and Wade came to sit beside him. Rhett took his hat off and turned it slowly around in his hands. What should - what _could_ \- he tell Wade? How could he explain the state of his marriage, when he didn't even understand it himself? He doubted Scarlett would ever agree to a divorce. Maybe, in time, a legal separation. He was only muddying the waters by coming back here. He nearly groaned out loud; and he had _kissed_ her, and he was not sure where he would have stopped, if she had not. They were in limbo, not separated, but hardly married. How did you explain that to a boy, a child?

"Wade, your place is with your mother."

"Is this what you did to your other son?"

"What? Wade, what kind of idea is that?"

A memory had come back to Wade, an anxious memory from many years ago. Uncle Rhett had understood little boys, but he had not answered Wade's question - _You haven't got any other little boys?_ He remembered with startling clarity the absolute certitude, even as a little boy himself, that his stepfather's mind had been somewhere else, with some other child.

"Your other little boy. You had one, didn't you? You never said so, but you didn't deny it, either. Did you leave him behind too? When you went away, were you going back to visit him, just like - just like you come back now? You got tired of him and came to Atlanta; and now you're tired of me and you've gone to Charleston. How long until you get bored of coming back to visit?"

Rhett's face was serious and he put a heavy hand on Wade's slim, boyish shoulder. "Wade, you are my only boy. You are son enough for me." He dropped his hand from Wade, and rested his forearms across his thighs. "But I can see you're growing up, Wade Hampton. You will be a man before long - much sooner than your mother wishes, I'm sure. I can see, it's time to be honest with you. There was another little boy - my ward. He lived in New Orleans. Do you remember New Orleans? No? Well, you were even younger then. You didn't meet him. I left you with a maid from the hotel when I went to see him. But he was not _my_ little boy, Wade. It's a very complicated, sad story. No, I won't tell you today, but maybe someday. What I will tell you today is that he was almost alone in the world, and I was partially to blame for that. So he became my ward, and I made sure he was taken care of."

"What happened to him, Uncle Rhett?"

"He grew up," Rhett said simply. "He's not a little boy anymore. Neither are you, Wade, but you are not yet a man, either. You need to stay here, with your mother."

"Why do you have to go?"

Rhett looked at his hands, knotted them together between his knees. He didn't have an answer for himself, much less a twelve-year-old child.

"I'll be back, son." He could see in Wade's face that the boy was not satisfied. His stepson's face was mulish and bitter, with jaw squared. "Wade—" Was there any promise Rhett could make that it wouldn't tear him apart to keep?

"This summer," Rhett said at last, though he spoke every word slowly, like they were being dragged from him against his will. "This summer, you can come with me. I'll take you, and Ella, on a trip somewhere. Only if your mother agrees, Wade, do you understand? I won't take you against her wishes." It was far too late to care for Scarlett's wishes regarding her children, but so many things had changed.

"Yes, sir!" Wade replied enthusiastically. "Thank you, Uncle Rhett!"

Rhett jammed the slouch hat back on his head, then clapped Wade on the back. The boy was old enough that Rhett knew a hug would just embarrass him even without witnesses; but a more manly farewell would make him proud. "Take care of your sister, Wade. I'd say the same for your mother, but I think you and I both know she can take care of herself just fine."

As Rhett sat back against the plush velvet squabs, he thought of her pale face across from him in this same carriage two nights previous, and the bruised circles under her eyes. He thought of leaving her at the top of their fateful staircase, and the glasses of whisky he'd finished before the latch of her bedroom door had clicked from across the hall. Was he a liar? Scarlett O'Hara had survived devastation, war, famine, and poverty with hardly more than her own resourcefulness to carry her along. The inevitable breakdown of their marital farce could not be more damaging than those other hurts.

The train took most of the day to travel between Atlanta and Charleston. Rhett pulled the slouch hat over his eyes and slept. The memory of Scarlett's apology, the one he would have told her came far too late to matter, lay heavy against the defenses of his heart.


	11. Chapter 11

_Charleston, South Carolina, June 1874_

Rhett Butler was a sea captain again, even if his vessel was only a small, dilapidated old sailboat. He'd bought the run-down boat from a friend of his mother's. The sails were torn, the thin mast broken, the surface condition ranged from scuffed to cracking. He had thrown himself into the work of restoration. The hours of labor on the ship were the first honest activity he had ever indulged in in Charleston. The hard work strengthened muscles gone soft with drink and disuse, leaving his body almost as lean and trim as it had been a decade before. The long hours outdoors brought a healthy bronze back to his skin, making him dark as an Indian again. Standing on new decking in early May, he realized he felt alive. He hadn't even noticed how dead living had become, until he had felt the vigor in his blood as he scraped and hammered and poured his sweat into the project of the boat. Sensation was returning, like a limb that had gone numb without being noticed suddenly sparking with pain. He named the ship _Bonnie Blue_.

Rhett measured himself against the challenge of wind and surf and emerged the victor every time. In the vast blue of sea and sky he was minute, riding the edge of the world, reveling in his own power and strength and will.

He maintained his socially acceptable appearances in his mother's house. He entertained ladies at afternoon teas and graciously hosted her old friends for long, leisurely dinners. He stayed completely sober, surprising himself as much as anyone else. He had felt every one of his nearly 46 years the first morning he had tried to rise with the dawn to take the little boat out on the tide, and found his head stuffed with cotton and ringing like a bell after one too many whisky night caps the night before. He felt none of those years out on the water. It was a revelation. He stuck once more to a single glass of wine at supper.

Rhett did write to his stepchildren. Safely distant from his wife, he admitted to himself that she had been right to make the suggestion; the corollary was that he had been wrong to abandon them as he had. He had cut them out of his life almost as nearly as his own father had removed him. The circumstances were night and day, but he could no longer pretend to any decency in his own actions. He mailed letters for Wade and Ella weekly, filled with stories and sketches from the sea. Sometimes he wrote short notes every day to be sent all in one fat bundle with the post. Sometimes in the morning he would sit at his desk, pen in hand over the blank parchment, and try to form the words for a letter to Scarlett. He couldn't find anything to put in writing, so instead he added a meaningless postscript to the children's letters.

 _Give my best to your mother._

He could have told her that when the sun struck the shallows at just the right angle, the green of the plants beneath the surface swam up and the whole world looked like the color of her eyes; and the dark blues of the depths looked like Bonnie. Bonnie had loved the water, loved the ocean in Charleston. He should tell Scarlett the name of his sailboat, the energy she possessed as she cut through the waves, the way sailing brought peace to his memories. The way her words had blessed that peace, acted like benediction on a guilt he hadn't recognized.

Out on the water, he shared his memories of Bonnie with the sunlight at last.

Spring became summer; became June. He sat down to breakfast with Eleanor one morning and said the hardest words he had ever uttered.

"Mother, I'm going back to Atlanta again. I need to be with Bonnie."

Eleanor Butler nodded in understanding of the impending anniversary. She reached across the table for Rhett's hand; she was surprised when he grasped hers in return. "Do you want me to come with you, darling?"

Rhett's white teeth flashed briefly under his neat mustache in a bitter smile. "Thank you, Mother. I'll be fine." He correctly read the worry in her soft gaze. "I promise I'll not go mad again. I miss her terribly, every day. I hope I never stop missing her, never forget her. But I believe I have left madness behind. She deserves better." He paused, and let go of Eleanor's warm hand. He grasped his coffee mug in one hand and used a spoon to stir it with the other. "She deserved better, Mother. She should not have been jumping with the bar so high, but I couldn't tell her no. I tried, and as always, I failed. I couldn't not give her what she wanted, anything she had asked for." His mouth turned down bitterly at one corner. "So you see, it was my fault. I couldn't tell her no, even when it would have been better for her. Even when it would have saved her life."

Eleanor tried to cut in, worried anew for Rhett's health, remembering the insanity of his grief in those bleak days before and just after her granddaughter's funeral. Before she had, foolishly, let him send her back to Charleston. "Rhett —"

"I'm just being honest, not insane. And drinking myself to death wouldn't save her or bring her back. I want to go home, alone. I need to tell her I'm sorry."

Eleanor took a tentative sip of her own coffee, wondering how deeply she should dig. Rhett seemed unusually open this morning, honest to a fault, but that didn't mean he'd be receptive to questions. He was sharing on his own terms, letting go of the burdens that he was ready to release. She could push him too far.

"Will you stay long?"

"Not in Atlanta, but I am not sure when I'll come back to Charleston. I promised Wade that I would take the children on a trip when I came back. I think we'll go to Philadelphia, to that new zoo they're opening. Ella isn't much for animals, but I'm hoping if they're safely behind bars she'll become more comfortable."

He had given her the perfect opening, without any need for her to pry the subject into the light. "And Scarlett, dear? Will she need to return to Atlanta immediately? You could all come visit." Eleanor was prepared for the shutters that always closed when she mentioned his wife's name; but his gaze only flickered uncertainly.

"We'll see," he said curtly, and she knew that regardless of his curious reaction, the discussion was closed.

"Rosemary would find your stepchildren darling, I'm sure," Eleanor said, letting the topic of his wife aside. "I did myself, though I only met them briefly."

"They are darling," Rhett said, warming again to the conversation. "Although, Wade is twelve now, and a bit too old to be called darling. He was always a timid boy, but he's changed. He's growing up, I suppose. He never looked much like his mother, but when I was there in April I found that he has mastered her most stubborn, mulish expressions, with the tenacity to match. Ella has always been sweet, so sweet - and docile - it's hard to imagine she's Scarlett's child, sometimes. She looks more like her mother. Their eyes are the same shape, the same nose...but her hair...well, you did meet her, last summer. She hasn't changed much..." Rhett trailed off, thinking through that last statement. Hadn't Ella changed? Like her brother, he had always thought her fearful of her mother, but she had seemed different in April; different even at Christmas. He smiled to himself as he thought of Scarlett's voice, drifting through the dining room door and raised in a silly song as she came down the stairs with her daughter, of the happy glow in Ella's face at the breakfast table that morning.

"Ella is only six or seven, isn't she, Rhett? She'll be growing up soon enough."

Rhett refocused on his mother. "Seven. She turned seven last fall."

Eleanor smiled at her son. "It seems so very long ago that you were that age..."

Rhett snorted. "Mother dearest, are you trying to remind me that I'm an old man?"

"Rhett! Hardly. If you are old, I must be ancient. No, Rhett," she shot him a piercing look, "you are still in the prime of life."

The light went from his face again and the corner of his mouth went down in its familiar self-mocking twist. "I am old, Mother. Too old and tired; and getting sentimental in my old age, to boot. I've been longing for the things I cast away in youth. I was cut off from the respectable world, and so I turned my cheek and walked away from it gladly." His black eyes were empty and placid, like deep pools on a moonless night, with no light to illuminate their depths. "I came back to Charleston to find that respectability again. Oh, probably not for myself. I'm not foolish enough to think the people here will ever welcome me back. The Old Guard, be it Charleston or Atlanta, have long memories. They do not forget or forgive easily. I thought there might be some comfort in being surrounded by the grace and beauty of the old world, in the loving bosom of my family."

"You speak as if you've since changed your mind."

"No," Rhett said slowly. "Of course not. I simply speak as if I found exactly what I was expecting to find."

Eleanor took a sip of her coffee and kept her doubts to herself. Her son moved as a man driven, not a man at peace. In the mornings he was restless and unsettled, until he could excuse himself to see to the boat. He would be gone for hours, returning with barely enough time to clean himself up to join her as host. On the afternoons when she went calling, she was sure he stayed out on the water, for she would not see him for dinner. After supper, he would finally retire to the small office in the house to catch up on the day's business. If she awoke at night, she would more likely than not hear his pacing footsteps somewhere in the house - downstairs in the library, in his room down the hall, along the piazza past her own window. Despite his restlessness there was a lightness to his demeanor that had been absent in the winter and early spring, but whatever demons he had exorcised to this point had not freed him completely.

Or perhaps, thought Eleanor, she was wrong. She had barely known her son as an adult. In truth, she hadn't known him well as a boy, either. He had clashed with his father early and often, and learned at a very young age to hold himself aloof from other people - even or perhaps especially from his own family. He had already been in his thirties when his father died and she could see him again for more than a few hours at a time in clandestine rendezvous. She had only spent any real length of time with him when he had come to visit with her darling granddaughter. Until this year, their only other visit had occurred when he was in the depths of a tearing grief over her death. Of course he would have changed a lot in 20 years; her understanding of him now was more intuition than knowledge. Yet he seemed unhappy, and surely despite not knowing him as well as she would have liked, happiness or its lack were simple qualities to discern in a person whether you understood them or not.

"For your sake, Rhett," Eleanor said cautiously, evenly, "I do hope that you have."

Rhett drained his coffee. "Yes. I need to pack my things. I'll be on the train tonight before supper." He stopped at his mother's side and bent down to kiss the still smooth cheek she turned up for him. "I have to see that the _Bonnie_ gets stored. I'm not sure I'll be back in time for dinner."

"How about tea this afternoon? It's not my at-home day so I shouldn't expect anyone. We can enjoy some time together, before you leave."

"I will plan on it. Good day, Mother."

"Good day—" Eleanor called softly to his departing back.

 _Atlanta, Georgia, June 1874_

Scarlett pressed her hands to her abdomen in the privacy of her carriage. They were parked on the cemetery road.

Somehow, this anniversary threatened to undo her as the death had not. This visit to her daughter's grave - alone. She wanted Melanie. She wanted _Rhett_. Melly was gone, forever; gone with Bonnie, with Gerald, with Ellen. Only a week ago, Ashley had left, gone to take that new job in Chicago. All the mainstays of her life had left her one by one. Even Rhett. He might as well be dead and buried with the rest of them for all the support he would offer her now.

She had to face this. Scarlett O'Hara did not cower in the dark. This was as bad as anything she had ever borne, but her shoulders had accepted all those burdens without faltering yet. She took a deep breath, pressing her ribs into her tightly laced corset, and rapped on the carriage ceiling. The door opened and she let the coachman help her down.

The day was as inappropriately bright and sunny as the day of the funeral had been the previous year. She blinked away the sting of the harsh daylight in her eyes that threatened to overwhelm her rigid self-control. She would not cry, not yet. Her tears would have to wait until she was home again, until she was safe behind walls, alone, private. Let anyone think her unfeeling; better that than to be thought weak. She clutched the white roses to her chest and walked sedately through the cemetery, along the terribly familiar paths to Bonnie's grave. She hated it here, hated to be surrounded by so much death, by the endless march of white stones that seemed to scream the foolishness of boys and men. The Glorious Cause had ended here in row on row of marble stones.

And one small white marker for her little girl. Scarlett knelt in the damp grass and rested the bouquet in her lap. She brushed her gloved hands over the stone, needlessly cleaning it. The headstone was spotless and damp with dew, and the wet soaked into her thin gloves. _Eugenie Victoria Butler. 1869 - 1873. Our Bonnie lass_. Scarlett wondered for the first time, as she had not been capable of wondering when locked in her own grief, if Rhett hated that inscription. To him, Bonnie had embodied the Butlers and the Robillards. He had never thought much of her own Irish blood. He hadn't been reachable or reasonable to ask, at the time. To Scarlett, it had seemed fitting, a touch of Irish for her stubborn, spirited little girl who had been so very like the Irish grandfather she had never met. _Maybe you're both jumping fences in heaven, Pa_ , she thought. _You would have loved to ride with Bonnie. She had everything you thought Sue and Baby and I lacked for riding._

"You would have had a grand time riding around the County together," Scarlett continued, unaware that she had begun to speak her thoughts out loud. "She would have jumped every fence with you. She looked so much like you, Pa. What trouble you would have been, the both of you so stubborn and willful. I hope you are taking good care of my little girl, Pa. I hope Mother —" she broke off, suddenly, as tears threatened to overwhelm her. _I mustn't cry, I won't. I can cry later, at home. I mustn't cry here._ She pressed her damp gloves to her bosom, blinking rapidly and willing the tears not to fall.

A soft leather glove covered her entire shoulder. Her body started with a sudden uncontrollable jerk before she regained the control to hold herself completely still. Rhett's white handkerchief fluttered in front of her face like a flag, but she did not move to take it. After an awkward moment, he lowered himself to the ground next to her, one leg crossed in front of him and the other knee bent up. His boots shone in the bright sun. He tucked the handkerchief back in his jacket pocket.

Rhett reached for the bouquet still in her lap and she clutched at it. At least one small thorn pricked her lightly through her gloves. Rhett removed his hand.

"They are beautiful roses," he said. Scarlett nodded.

"I never asked. Did Melanie choose the inscription?"

"No," Scarlett said, softly - almost timidly, "I did."

"You?" Scarlett's spine stiffened.

"Yes. She asked me. You weren't in any —"

"I know. I only meant - it's lovely. I'm sorry, Scarlett, I just mean that - you don't usually have such a way with words."

"Oh." It stung, a little, but she knew it was true. "She was just...so like Pa. It seemed fitting."

"It is."

"Oh."

Rhett rested one arm on his bent knee. His right hand lifted her left from the bouquet, seemingly absent-mindedly bringing her knuckles to his lips for a brief kiss. Her fingers trembled in his grasp. He lowered their hands to the damp grass, but did not release her. They sat in silence, and gradually her racing heart slowed. As she calmed, Scarlett became more aware of Rhett. She saw his fist clench and unclench over his knee, realized as her own hand stilled that his was shaking. His profile was carved from granite, revealing nothing, and she couldn't see his eyes. Only his hands gave him away.

Scarlett looked down at their clasped hands. Both gloved, their hands made a black knot against the vibrant backdrop of grass. She swept her thumb along the pad of his, rubbed it gently. No, she didn't have a way with words, and she was at a complete loss now. How she had missed him, longed for his comfort in those bleak weeks after Bonnie's death - and every week since. Even a year had not been enough time to find the right thing to say.

Rhett exhaled in a loud, explosive gust. Lifting her head, Scarlett was astonished to see tears on his hard cheeks. Her stomach tightened and she felt nauseous with grief.

"Oh, Rhett," she whispered. His shaking hand tightened painfully around her fingers.

"I gave her too much," he said at last, his voice so low and strained she had to lean closer to hear him. "I never said no, not once, and it killed her. I killed her."

"Oh, no!" Scarlett cried, horrified. "No, my darling. I never meant that, I told you—"

"But you were right anyway, Scarlett. I couldn't say no."

"I couldn't say no, either, Rhett. No one could refuse her, not even Mammy. She was - the most stubborn little girl in all of Atlanta. She was so smart - so pretty. I was so proud of her - I'm sure I would have done the same, if I had been in the yard with her, and not you."

"She was stubborn because I let her get away with it. I gave her everything she asked for whether it was right or wrong."

"She was stubborn from her first breath, Rhett. Mammy - Mammy used to tell me she had my face and my temper, and the strength of our wills combined, and no power on this earth could stop such a child. She didn't even need to talk to get her own way. If she didn't like her dress she took it off, if she didn't like her toy she threw it away, if she didn't want to be held you'd have to put her down or she might fall right out of your arms, she squirmed so much. Oh, Rhett, she was the brightest little girl I ever saw. I wonder how she would have..."

"She was so sweet I couldn't help it. She was so happy when she had her own way, how could I not?"

"We both just wanted her to be happy. It wasn't your fault."

"I don't know if I can forgive myself."

Scarlett leaned over until her head rested on Rhett's upper arm just below the hard curve of his shoulder. "I don't think there's anything to forgive, but I would forgive you anything."

With deliberate, halting moves, Rhett raised the arm she leaned against to wrap it around her narrow shoulders, moving her cheek to his chest. She was seated too far away and the position was awkward and uncomfortable but she wouldn't have moved for anything.

"Your roses," Rhett murmured into her hair after several minutes had passed. Her lower back had started to go numb.

"What?" Scarlett replied in the same quiet voice, confused.

"The flowers in your lap, Scarlett. For Bonnie?"

"Oh, yes," she said, biting off the words. He just couldn't be nice for very long - even here, even now. She moved to sit up and his arm fell away. "I know they're not blue, but they seemed right."

"They are perfect."

She turned the bouquet in her hands, feeling the light prick of the thorns through her gloves. They wouldn't break the skin, but she could feel that they were there. She laid the bouquet along the base of the headstone. "I should have brought a vase. I didn't think."

"I think they're fine just like that. Thank you."

"Thank me? For what?"

"For bringing the flowers. For thinking of her."

Scarlett's answer was sharp. "She was my daughter too, Rhett. Why wouldn't I think of her?" She wasn't sure, but Rhett's exhalation came out in a breath that almost sounded like a curse word.

"I apologize. I said the wrong thing."

Scarlett started to push herself to her feet, hurt despite his apology.

"Scarlett, wait," Rhett said, grabbing her wrist. His tone was unfamiliar - pleading? "I don't want you to leave here angry. It wouldn't be right."

"Wouldn't it be? How often did we part in anger while she was alive? Why would anything be different? Didn't you tell me in April, nothing has changed? How right you are, Captain Butler."

Rhett tugged harder at her wrist, but she refused to bend. His next breath she was sure was a muttered "Damn you," and then his arms were behind her knees and hips, pulling her off her feet and into the cradle of his canted legs. Her mouth opened in a shocked but silent 'O'. She tried to hold herself stiff and apart from his body, but his arms were hard and unrelenting, pressing her close to his chest until she relaxed against him.

"I didn't say that to be mean." Scarlett expressed her disbelief with a light sniff. To her surprise, she felt as much as heard the rumble of amused laughter in his chest. "Believe me?"

"Oh, fine, Rhett. I believe you."

His arms tightened briefly. "Mammy was right, you know. She looked just like you."

"She had Pa's eyes. I thought she looked so much like Pa."

"You look like your father, too. She had your face, with your spirit. All her stubbornness - she was exactly like you."

"You said that, before," Scarlett answered, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Before you - left."

He hugged her again, but his arms did not relax this time.

"I wanted to spoil you. I wanted you to have everything you wanted, everything you needed to feel safe. I even - that damn house—"

Scarlett tried to pull away again. She did not want to hear another painful speech that amounted to a lecture on her own stupidity and blindness, did not want to sit here at her daughter's grave of all places and have to feel again the aching emptiness of Rhett walking out on her, too. Wasn't this day enough, this horrible anniversary they would have to remember every year, visiting a lifeless stone instead of seeing their daughter growing up?

But his arms were around her like steel bands, and his voice was rough.

"I would have spoiled you with everything but the truth. I owe you yet another apology, my dear. I'm sorry."

"Rhett," Scarlett breathed, craning her neck away from his chest to see his face. Suddenly she felt warm all over, felt how hot the morning sun had become as it beat down on her, hot on the black mourning dress she had put on again for this day; and yet that heat was as nothing compared to the blaze of hope Rhett's words had lit in her heart. She wriggled in his arms, trying to pull back enough to see his eyes, and bit her lip to keep the smile at bay until she could see the truth of his words.

He wasn't looking down at her. His black eyes were distant, looking toward Bonnie's grave and seeing past it. She watched him for several rapid heartbeats, and his face didn't change. He didn't look at her. Her heart began to slow and under the hot sun the contrasting chill in her limbs made her feel ill.

"But nothing has changed," Scarlett said flatly. It was not a question. She remembered what else he had said in October, "You think that by saying, 'I'm sorry,' all the errors and hurts of years past can be remedied..." _Yes_ , she thought, _yes they can. We can't go back and fix it, but we can go forward - only you don't think so, do you, Rhett?_ "Why bother with an apology, if it doesn't change anything?"

Rhett didn't answer. Her neck was growing sore in its strained, unnatural position, but his arms hadn't relaxed their hold at all. She strained against his hold. "Rhett. Let me up."

As if waking from a long dream, Rhett's eyes returned to hers. He released his arms, and as she climbed unsteadily to her feet, he followed. She brushed at her skirts. "Are you coming ho- to the house?"

The look he gave her was strange and though she was now roasting in her black dress under the hot sun, she shivered.

"Yes, I suppose I am, Mrs. Butler. I don't have a carriage. May I accompany you?"

"Of course."

"Give me a moment."

Scarlett nodded. She brushed her fingertips once more along the top of Bonnie's gravestone, then curled her hand into a fist as she straightened and walked to the waiting carriage.

…

Rhett helped his wife down from the carriage, but stood aside to let her pass him into the house. He set down his only valise and lingered on the top step of the veranda, one arm braced against a porch column. The front door hung open behind Scarlett, and the hall beyond was dark. The heavy curtains Scarlett had selected for her home were usually drawn, keeping the interior of the house in an oppressive state of gloom. He didn't feel up to the weight of it this day. If he hadn't run into her at the cemetery, he would probably not have come back to the house on Peachtree Street, but instead sought his refuge at Belle's whorehouse. It shared a certain gilded gaudiness with his own house, but there was light and life to it that this place lacked. Certainly had lacked since his daughter died, but even before then the Peachtree house had felt more like a grave than a homely haven. He had given this house his hope, his heart, and finally, both his own children.

Rhett roughly loosened his cravat and retreated back down the veranda steps and around the side of the ornate home. He crossed the back lawn, unconsciously skirting the place where Mr. Butler had once made his tracks, and settled on a hard wrought iron bench under the matching gazebo. He clipped and lit a long cigar, the ritual movements calming him. His shoulders relaxed as he exhaled a pale blue grey stream of smoke. Rhett rested one booted ankle across his knee and tapped the end of the cigar against his sole. Studying the back of the house, he could see a shadow moving in Scarlett's window; the lift and fall of the drapes whose gilded embroidery caught the sunlight.

Wade and Ella pounding down the steps from the rear of the veranda spoiled the still retreat.

"Uncle Rhett!" they cried as they ran across the lush lawn. Ella struggled to catch her breath as the children skidded to a halt inside the gazebo.

"Pork said you were home," Wade said first.

"We saw him taking your bag upstairs," said Ella, still a little out of breath.

"Do you have more luggage, Uncle Rhett? Is it still at the train station? I can tell Pork he needs to go —"

"Are you staying, Uncle Rhett?" Ella interrupted, moving closer to put her small palms on his calf.

Rhett stubbed his cigar out, leaving an ashy mark on the iron bench, and uncrossed his legs. "Hello to you both, as well," he said, and Ella eagerly stepped into his open arms for a hug. Wade approached more reluctantly, but his shoulders straightened when Rhett gave him a strong handshake.

"Are you, Uncle Rhett?" Ella asked, breathless now with eager anticipation.

"Of course I am Uncle Rhett," he replied, with a wink for Wade to let him in on the joke.

"No, Uncle Rhett! That isn't what I meant! Oh please do tell us you're staying home."

Rhett's teasing demeanor sobered as he sat forward slightly. Wade and Ella were so openly eager, so happy to see him. Before his conversation with Wade in April, he had not given much thought to how the children were tolerating this strange impasse in his marriage to their mother. He had gone back to his old ways of coming and going from Atlanta as it suited him, but he had more responsibilities than a carefree bachelor now. Before his marriage, he had slipped the choking noose of his inexpressible feelings for Scarlett as often as necessary, escaping whenever the confessional urge became too strong or blind desire threatened to overrule his common sense. He had had no one to answer for - or protect - besides himself. His conversation with Wade had already shown him that those days were lost. These children had been his almost six years now - he had been Wade's father for nearly half the boy's life; and the only father Ella had ever known.

His stepchildren weren't Bonnie, but they were still Scarlett's children. Once, that had been enough. Now - but it was too late to take back that affection, to take away that relationship. At least for their sake. They deserved a better father than he himself had possessed.

"Yes, Uncle Rhett," Wade echoed, "will you be staying long?" Rhett heard the underlying question, the tentative hope that - regardless of the length of his visit - now Rhett would honor the promise from April.

Rhett pulled Ella onto his knee and kissed her cheek soundly, eliciting delighted giggles. "I can only stay for a few days, Wade." He talked quickly as the children's faces fell. "For I have hotel reservations in Philadelphia next week. I heard they are going to open a zoo there, filled with all sorts of different animals. What do you two think of that?"

"Where is Philadelaphia?" Ella asked.

"It's Philadelphia, silly," Wade corrected her, "and it's up North."

"Oh," said Ella. 'North' was an abstract but possibly frightening place to her.

"Are you going to the zoo, sir?" Wade asked.

"Well, son, I believe that depends on you and Miss Ella. Would you like to go to the zoo?"

"Yes, sir!" Wade answered immediately, even as Ella asked, "But would we have to go North?"

Rhett tickled her. "Yes, we will have to go North. If I promise to keep you safe, would you like to go?"

"Well - only if you will stay with us, Uncle Rhett."

"I promise," he told her solemnly. "I have to ask your mother first, so let's keep it a secret for today. Can you do that?" Wade and Ella both made their own promises to secrecy.

"Won't Mother come with us?" Ella asked.

"I thought it would be a fun trip just for the three of us. Would that still be alright with you, Ella?"

Ella seemed to think about this, but after a few moments she nodded. "I suppose - if Mother doesn't mind -" She worried her thumb and forefinger together, reluctant to leave her mother, but irresistibly enticed by the promise of a trip alone with Uncle Rhett, just like Bonnie had had but never her, Ella. Oh, Wade would be coming with, but that was alright. It was still something different and exciting, to go off with just her father. And it was someplace even Bonnie hadn't been.

"I'll talk to your mother tonight." Rhett looked at his pocket watch. "Isn't it time for you to wash up for dinner?" With one more strangling hug, Ella scrambled down and followed Wade back to the house in an impromptu foot race.

Rhett spent the afternoon with Wade and Ella. In unexpected moments, when a feature they had shared with their younger half-sister caught his eye - the square jut of Wade's chin; or the shape of Ella's eyes - his heart gave a painful judder, gripped by the memory of Bonnie. It would always be hard to see her in her siblings; in her mother. But his life had not stopped with his daughter's; these children needed him. They glowed in his presence. Their words overlapped as they rushed to fill him in on all the details of life which he had missed in his absence. Ella, especially, looked to him for approbation. Wade mirrored his postures and his gestures, and Rhett was aware for the first time that not only was his stepson a boy to care for, but a growing man who was looking to him as a model of Southern manhood. The thought terrified him in much the same way his vision of Bonnie's imperiled future had done five years earlier. Yes, boys were much more trouble than girls; not that he would trade Wade for anything. Those treacherous, unspeakable thoughts had been safely locked away sometime after he had first left Atlanta. These were his children almost as much as Bonnie had been; and he still owed them something for all that.

Scarlett did not join them in the bright garden. She had hastily excused herself from the dinner table, her discarded napkin failing to completely cover the evidence of a mostly untouched plate. Rhett was aware that she had not left the house. He assumed she had closed herself in that most hallowed retreat, her solitary bedroom. She did reappear for supper. After the dishes had been cleared away and Wade and Ella sent upstairs for bed with hugs, kisses, and promises not to forget to ask Mother, he lit another cigar and sat back in his large, heavy chair.

"What were Wade and Ella talking about? What are you going to ask me?" Scarlett's voice was level, but her knuckles were white where they gripped her cup too tightly.

"I would like to take them with me on a trip. If it's alright with you."

"A trip? Where? How long? When? Where would you go?" Scarlett fired off her questions rapidly. Rhett laughed at the repetition, but stopped himself abruptly when her shoulders squared for battle with a matching martial flare in her hot green eyes.

"To Philadelphia. Maybe to Charleston. Just for a few weeks."

"Not for months?"

Rhett shook his head and took a long drag on the cigar. "No. Just weeks. I'll send you a telegram if we go anywhere other than Philadelphia."

"I don't know, " she replied. "Philadelphia - that's a Yankee city, Rhett. I don't know about my children—"

"The war is, actually, over, my pet. Philadelphia is perfectly safe, and not too uncivilized." He leered at her, and she glared back at him.

"Why Philadelphia? Why - why do you want to take them away at all? I don't understand."

"I thought they would enjoy it," Rhett answered, lying with incomplete truths. "There's a zoo opening there."

"But Ella—"

"Ella might feel safer seeing all the animals behind bars and kept apart from her. She can't spend her whole life among cats."

"I still don't understand."

"I'm their stepfather. I'm almost the only father either of them has ever known. Why shouldn't I take my children on a trip? I've missed them, and they've missed me."

"You could stay home," Scarlett whispered, looking at the cream swirls in her cup of coffee.

"No," Rhett said, gently. "I can't do that. Not yet."

Scarlett flicked her eyes up at him briefly, casting them down again before he could see the flare of hope his words brought. She saw that his face was bland, schooled to familiar emptiness that gave nothing away.

"You will let me know where you go."

"I will."

"You won't keep them away for months."

"No, I won't do that."

Scarlett nodded. "When will you leave?"

"Would tomorrow be too soon?"

Oh - it was. He had only just arrived that morning, at least as far as she knew. To not have any more time with him - or perhaps, that was for the best. She did not know where they stood. Their interactions veered wildly from pleasant to confrontational, from distant to confusingly intimate. His presence had helped her through a difficult morning, and he had been perfectly courteous the rest of the day. Maybe it would be better if he left before such a fragile peace was disturbed yet again.

"No, that's fine. Prissy can pack them up in the morning."

"It might be a vacation for you, too."

Yes, that was it. A vacation. She could close up the house and go to Tara, like she had planned. The children could join her there later. Maybe they would stay the whole summer. She wouldn't be so far from Atlanta, if something needed her attention.

"Yes...yes. I think I'll go to Tara. Rhett, you could bring them there after your trip, couldn't you?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

"Let me be the one thanking you, Mrs. Butler. I promise to keep the children safe and return them to you before long." Rhett stubbed out his cigar before rising from his seat. He bowed low over her hand and kissed her knuckles softly. He rubbed his thumb over her fingers in a ghostly caress before withdrawing.

Scarlett finished her cup of coffee and turned away from the tempting decanter to go upstairs herself, but hours later when sleep had proven elusive she decided to slip back downstairs for a nightcap after all. She drew a light cotton wrapper over her shoulders and tied the sash about her waist. After slipping her feet into her slippers, she pulled her door open slowly.

The hall was dark, the space barely illuminated from the traces of moonlight that snuck around heavy drapes and through open doors. She paused to make sure her eyes were adjusted to the darkness and she wouldn't end up crashing into a table and destroying all possibility of stealth. There was no crack of light under Rhett's door; partway down the staircase she leaned over the banister to make sure the dining room was equally dark. The somber house was completely still, with no sign of life beyond the uneven susurration of her own breathing. Her slippered feet whispered over the thick carpeting as she descended the rest of the stairs.

In the dining room, Scarlett crossed unerringly to the sideboard, her steps guided by memory as much as by light, for the weak strands of moonlight only served to brighten the room to dark grey instead of pitch black. The neck of the cut crystal decanter was familiar, even comforting, against her palm. She clutched it to her chest and retraced her steps to the stairs. Her eyes downcast to be sure of her footing on the treacherous stairs, she didn't see the black form on the landing until Rhett's palm covered her elbow and her eyes flew up in surprise. She jerked her arm and he let her go. Even without light, she could see the gleam of his teeth under his moustache as he spoke with surprising sincerity.

"You shouldn't drink alone, Scarlett."

"What reputation do I have left to ruin?"

"Come back down with me."

"It's late. I need to go to bed."

"You aren't bringing that upstairs just to tuck it into bed. Come have your drink with me. I dare to hope I'm better company than Tom," he said smoothly, the shadow of his arm gesturing downward. Tom, or maybe the shy grey - she couldn't tell in the darkness - was winding through her ankles.

"Oh, all right." Rhett offered his arm and she took it lightly for a step. Once she was free of the cat, she dropped it quickly and wrapped both arms around the decanter again.

In the dining room, Rhett pulled a chair out for her before taking two glasses from the tray where the brandy decanter had stood. He took the chair next to hers and slid it close until the arms smacked together. With the glasses in front of her, Scarlett poured them both a measure of the dark liquor. They were barely more than shapes in the darkness, shadows on shadows: a dark stream that was the pouring brandy, a reflection from the glass, grey slices of shirt and nightdress that contrasted with the darker colors of his jacket and her wrapper. When the drinks were poured, Rhett lifted his.

"To Bonnie," he whispered.

"Oh," she said, and swallowed hard. "To - to Bonnie."

They drank together. Her glass clinked on the table when she set it down.

"After today, it will be more than a year since she died."

Scarlett took another hasty swallow and almost choked on the drink as a sob clutched her throat. It was after midnight; technically, this first anniversary had already passed, but she didn't think it would feel that way until the new sun rose. She had almost made it through - if the brandy would just let her sleep, she could wake up and put the day behind her at last. She took another drink and, closing her eyes, rested her head against the high seat back. The liquor spread warmly through her chest, relaxing her with languid heat, and she sighed. The drink made her cheeks hot, too, and she knew more tears were slipping out against her will for their tracks were cool on her skin.

"It doesn't feel any different to me. I just want this day to be over."

"Ah," he said, then fell silent.

"I miss her," Scarlett said, suddenly defensive, worried that he would find her previous statement heartless. "I miss her every day." She was horrified to hear her voice crack, and lifted a hand to swiftly dash at her wet cheeks. With a shaky twist of her wrist, she bolted the last of the brandy in her glass. The sound of the empty glass on the table was loud to her ears.

Rhett's warm hand closed over hers before she could remove it from her glass, and her breath caught in her throat, caught on another unwelcome sob. He lifted her hand and bestowed a gentle kiss, as he had at Bonnie's grave that morning. Against her bare skin, the whisper of his moustache raised goose pimples up her arm. Her fingers convulsed over his.

"She was the best of both of us," Rhett said, talking into her hand. "When she went—"

"She took everything," Scarlett finished, with a savage edge to her voice as she jerked her hand back. "You already said. I don't need to hear it all again - not today. Not today of all days - not any day. Why do you even come back? What do you care about the gossip now?" Scarlett braced her hands against the table to shove her chair back, but Rhett was faster. He still had the reflexes of an animal predator, as yet undulled by either age or drink. His left hand held the arm of her chair fast, while he stuck his leg behind the chair legs to keep it in place.

"Is it so hard for you? Is my presence so unwelcome?"

"Yes!" she cried, then panicked that he was trying to lead her around to talking about a divorce again. "No. I mean - yes, it's hard. It's hard to have you near me, in the same house, and know you're only here for - for show, out of pity, for the children. For whatever reasons you have, but not for me. Not for love."

"If I can't give you that, why should we keep this up?"

Oh, to be caught in his trap anyway! "I won't talk about a divorce. I won't let you."

"What for, Scarlett? Why do we keep this up? If it only causes you pain, why must you cling to it so?"

"Because I love you, damn you!"

"Don't you care how I feel about it? Your love is very selfish, my pet."

"Because I don't believe you. If you loved me for years, how can there be nothing left?"

"I could ask you the same about Ashley."

"But I never really loved Ashley."

"But you love me now."

"Yes!" she cried.

Rhett was unperturbed. "You don't believe me, but why should I believe you?"

"You know I'm not lying."

"You're not exactly a paragon of truth and honor, my dear."

"But you know me," she whispered. "You've always known me, too well. You know I'm not lying, Rhett."

"You have always been a poor liar. I never understood why you didn't just give up the habit."

"You were the only person I could ever tell the truth. Everyone else has always been shocked and scandalized by everything I did. I couldn't share my true thoughts with anyone but you."

Rhett was silent after that. He took a long drink, draining his own glass, and still did not speak.

"You asked me never to lie to you. But you never gave me the same courtesy."

"I was protecting myself."

"By hurting me?"

"I preferred to think you didn't have a heart to hurt."

Scarlett gaped at him. "Then why did you even love me?" she asked in a soft voice, wondering at how calm she sounded now.

Rhett surprised her by gently lifting her arm, turning it in his palms, and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. The unexpected tenderness drove an answering swell of warmth through her body. Her fingers curled into her own palm. He slid his hand down her arm, his thumb slipped under her loosely cupped fingers and smoothed them open. She was mesmerized, mouth slightly open still, her stuttered breath coming sharply then held for a moment before she exhaled. He raised her hand and pressed it to his cheek. His face was rough. As he turned his head against her palm, the scrape of his stubbled cheeks in the dark triggered an old sense memory of his face against her skin in the middle of the night, that same rough caress against her neck, her breasts, against her skin in places it shamed her to think of. She felt her cheeks grow hot and her thighs clenched reflexively.

What was he doing? What was he doing to _her_? She still didn't understand why he was here, why he came back; he hadn't answered. She had answered his questions, but he had answered none of hers. For a moment she was tempted to press her nails into his cheek. She swallowed hard, and turned her hand gently against him instead.

"When she went," Rhett said at last in a hoarse, rasping voice. "I thought she took everything. I thought I buried my heart with her. I thought there was nothing left for us. I had tried to give up on you years before. Without Bonnie, what was there to keep us together? You despised me, instead of being merely ... distracted."

"No," Scarlett interrupted, pressing her hand hard against his cheek.

"No," he agreed, in a pleasant, if distant, tone. "No. I had become so blinded by my own bitterness that I couldn't really see you anymore. Or maybe I had always been blinded by fear. I was too drunk, too tired, buried under too much grief."

Scarlett was still in her chair, for once hanging on his every word. Again, as in September, he was speaking in the past tense, but the message did not seem the same.

With his hand over hers, Rhett turned his head and kissed her palm. Gently, he folded her fingers, and returned her hand to the arm of her chair.

"Do you need more brandy?" he questioned.

"N-no," she stuttered, confused by the abrupt change of subject.

Rhett pushed his chair back and stood before pulling her chair gently back. She stared up at him, her eyes more used to the darkness now but still unable to divine any clear details. When he offered his hand, she took it, and rose easily to her feet. Wrapping her arm through his and covering her fingers with his other hand, Rhett led her gently from the dining room. They ascended the stairs in silence, Scarlett confused and Rhett - quiet, serene, unreadable.

At the door to her room, he stopped and disengaged their arms. He grasped her upper arms and pulled her close, kissed her forehead, then drew her into his embrace and pressed her cheek to his chest. She rested her hands against his trim waist, uncertain of what anything meant.

"I don't know, Scarlett. I haven't changed my mind. I am not interested in mending what's broken. I will not risk my heart again. I still want you. I'm not old enough, or blind enough not to want you. And after - my last visits - I can't pretend otherwise. I am trying to be honest with you, my dear, even if it is too late for such small favors."

"I know we can't go back and fix the past, Rhett, but we have to keep moving forward."

"Always your eye on tomorrow. I'm afraid I'm too old for tomorrows, Scarlett. I have more days behind me, than ahead of me."

"Don't say that!" Scarlett whispered forcefully, pulling her torso away to look up into his face.

Rhett kissed her then, capturing her lips with sudden force that stunned her for a moment before she recovered and clutched his shirt in her hands. She rose on her tiptoes to press closer to him, kissing him with all the pent-up love and frustration that had built up over the long day, the long months of absence, the tense weeks with him. She tried to give him what she lacked the words to express, love and tenderness and forgiveness and hope.

She let his tongue part her lips and welcomed the gentle probe, opening for him willingly, shyly returning the caress. Despite their years of marriage, she had rarely kissed him like this; perhaps only that once had she returned his ardor with her own fervor. She felt his body shudder in response, but too soon he pulled away. She swayed slightly, trying to follow his retreat, but he straightened and lifted his chin to the ceiling. On tiptoe, she could kiss the rough underside. She eased herself back to flat feet.

"I will see you at Tara in less than a month," Rhett said to the ceiling. Scarlett's shoulders dropped with disappointment.

"Oh."

"I have no promises for you, Scarlett. You're right, I lied to you. I would like to stop that, now. I won't make promises or vows that aren't true."

"I understand," Scarlett gave her own lie. Rhett chuckled as he lowered his head to kiss her forehead again.

"No, I'm sure you don't. Good night, my dear."

"Good night, Rhett," she murmured, tucking her head against his chest. He held her loosely for another moment before gently pushing her away in the direction of her bedroom door.

Scarlett pulled the door shut behind her and Rhett lingered in the hallway for a moment before retreating to the solitude of his own bedroom.

* * *

 _Notes:_

 _Ashley's departure should have been in this chapter, but his actual departure isn't at all crucial to this story, and as an event of significance to Scarlett its strength is completely depleted (compared to Ashley's first attempt to leave after the war). I couldn't get any scene to stick so in the end...I left it out. Not having it in still feels like an omission but I preferred to skip it as the non-event it is, than write something that gets wedged in awkwardly._

 _And_ _I suppose thank you to Ms. Ripley for the sailboat and its name, although no similarity to_ _Scarlett_ _is intended. Scarlett is not going to go to Charleston, wheedle her way onto his boat, end up capsized in a storm, naked on a beach, pregnant and abandoned/kicked out. The name for the boat just makes sense. That one thing, Ripley. That one thing makes sense. (Okay, and I do - clearly - like the name Eleanor for the senior Mrs. Butler.)_

 _And definitely thank you to everyone reading and reviewing! It means a lot, every notification is a bright spot in a day. You make me giddy._


	12. Chapter 12

The Butlers made an attractive family portrait, standing clustered close together on the Central platform. Gangly, late-blooming Ella was looking more like her mother every day, and the heritage of Frank Kennedy was giving way as he himself so often had under his wife's forceful personality. To Scarlett's chagrin, the tightly curled ginger hair had not grown more manageable nor darkened into a more attractive shade of auburn, but the monkey baby face was thinning out and revealing aristocratic Robillard cheekbones, though such fine features still clashed not entirely prettily with the stubborn O'Hara chin. Ella might never be beautiful, but she could be striking. Wade would be taller than Scarlett in no time at all - would he shoot up during this trip to Philadelphia? His jaw had strengthened, too, more clearly when he was being antagonistic but even now, happy and excited, she could see more O'Hara in his face than when he was younger. His eyes would always be his father's - soft and warm, gentle even in anger, as if he was uncomfortable with the force of his feelings. He was not as timid as his father; certainly he had outgrown any fear of speaking his mind to his mother.

Rhett Butler stood a head taller than most every man in the crowd. The touches of grey that had begun to streak his hair in the last year only made him more handsome, giving him an appearance of dignity, evidence of having suffered the hard losses which in turn made women's hearts flutter sympathetically. He was trim and strong again, showing no sign of the heavy drinking that had thickened his waist and made his face puffy with bloodshot eyes the previous year. His clothing was impeccably tailored to show off the power of a body almost too large for a gentleman. The solicitous tilt of his head down to the smaller form of his wife would make any lady unfamiliar with the disapproving gossip centered around Scarlett swoon at such evident tenderness between husband and wife. To gossipy, all-too-knowledgeable Atlanta, this apparent picture of spousal harmony raised eyebrows and set tongues wagging.

Scarlett herself looked uncharacteristically motherly, with Ella's hand clasped tightly in her own and the gangly seven-year-old pressed shyly against her mother's side. Scarlett's dark green traveling costume suited her, complementing the unsullied green of her tilted eyes, and in the right stroke of sunlight darkening them to bright emerald. It would not escape the notice of many a fashion-conscious young lady that her husband's checkered cravat was in a matching shade. She was attractively small, even tiny next to the bulk of her husband, the narrow circumference of her waist defying age and three pregnancies carried to term. A strong gust of wind ruffled the strings of her bonnet, and with her hand occupied by her daughter she turned her face up to Rhett to retie the flapping green ribbons.

"Do you remember that first green bonnet?" she asked him just loud enough to be heard on the busy platform.

"I could never forget it," he mused as he gathered the ribbons. "I was quite the devil tempting you to fall."

"I did," she replied, her voice dropping almost too low to be heard.

"You should get on the train," Rhett said as he finished the bow.

Scarlett and Prissy would head to Jonesboro. Rhett, with Wade and Ella, were headed to the coast to take a ship north. "Are you sure you don't want to take Prissy with you, Rhett? You might want help with the children. It would be more appropriate for Ella..."

"We'll manage just fine. Ella can put her own skivvies on -"

"Rhett!"

"- and I can help her with anything else quite properly."

"But Rhett," Scarlett hissed, "Mammy is at Tara now - I don't need Prissy—"

"Mammy is retired," Rhett said sternly, "and don't you dare impose on her for your own comfort. She earned her peace."

"Hmph," Scarlett sniffed. "I think I know how to treat my own Mammy."

Rhett leaned down, his mouth so close to her ear that she could feel his moustache. His head pushed her bonnet just slightly askew. "Let her be, Scarlett. Bring Prissy. The children and I will be fine."

Scarlett shivered and made no answer. She turned away and called to Wade and Ella. "Say goodbye to Mother." Leaning down to hug her daughter, she missed Rhett's stern eyes locking with Wade before her son ambled over reluctantly.

Scarlett hugged and kissed both children, then crouched awkwardly to look into their eyes. "Be good for Uncle Rhett," she admonished needlessly, knowing they always behaved better for their stepfather and even so, he was far more tolerant of childish foibles. "You can send me letters or telegrams at Tara, and I'll see you in just a few weeks."

Rising to her feet, she was surprised at the heavy ache in her chest these goodbyes brought. She had never been away from Ella since her honeymoon with Rhett during the girl's babyhood, and hardly spent more time away from Wade. She hadn't been as close to her two eldest as she had wanted to be with Bonnie, but they were still her children, and she loved them - possibly even more than she had one year ago, before she knew what it was like to lose a child. She remembered how badly she had missed Bonnie when Rhett had taken her away. She was not looking forward to this separation.

Rhett's eyes were warm and understanding, the lack of mockery almost as surprising as the thought that she might miss her children. Hadn't he said she had the mothering skills of a cat - worse than? But he kissed her cheek softly and squeezed her arm.

"I will take good care of them, Scarlett, and they'll be at Tara before you know it."

Then the train whistle shrieked, and a porter was opening the door and helping her and Prissy, and all too soon her children's faces were disappearing - along with her husband's - as the train rolled off in a cloud of steam.

Rhett turned to Wade and Ella, planning to bundle them off to their own train, when Ella burst into tears.

"I want to go with Mother," she hiccoughed, rubbing her streaming eyes with her fists. The only time Ella had been really separated from her mother she had been barely more than a baby. Since then, they had only been apart a few days when Scarlett had left them in Marietta the previous fall. In those few days, her Aunt Melly had died and Uncle Rhett had left, returning home since then only for short periods. Ella's unconscious fears centered around all the possible upheavals her young imagination could conceive.

Rhett crouched down to her level and drew her close. "Ella, sweetheart. Don't you think we'll have a fine time together?"

"I don't want Mother to die," the little girl sniffed, pressing her face to Rhett's shoulder.

Rhett stood and tucked Ella over his hip. He held her easily in one arm and wrapped the other around Wade's shoulder. Pork, standing at some distance with the luggage on a trolley, followed automatically as Rhett started to walk the children through the crowded terminal.

"Your mother isn't going to die. She is going to her home at Tara to see her sister and your uncle and your cousins. She will boss everyone around, fight with your Aunt Suellen, and be perfectly happy minding everyone else's business."

Wade chuckled at Rhett's joke, and at the nasty edge to it Rhett cut a hard glance at the boy. The humor had been a bit off-color, meant to distract Ella, but it seemed he would have to watch his words more closely around his stepson. He had noticed the distance between the boy and his mother, and put it down to the tribulations of a boy trying to find his path to being a man, but was there more to it? Ella's fearful reaction to being separated from Scarlett obviously connected her mother's absence with the death of Miss Melly. What changes had the last year of loss wrought for both children?

Ella sniffed at Rhett's words and rested her ginger head on his broad shoulder. "Mother isn't bossy, she just helps them because she knows how to do things."

Rhett's loud guffaws turned several heads as they passed. "Is that what she's told you, Ella dear? Well of course. Your mother knows how to do many things. I shudder to think of the sorry state of a world unblessed by her guidance." This sideways jab went above the heads of both children.

Ella smiled happily at Rhett's apparent agreement with her mother's superior knowledge.

Pork transferred the luggage to a porter's care, and Rhett thanked him and sent him home for what might be up to two months of near leisure for the Peachtree Street servants. Scarlett would almost certainly be at Tara until the end of July, if not later. And he—

Rhett, Wade, and Ella settled in their train car. It would be a long, overnight ride to Charleston, where they would board a boat for Philadelphia. Both children sat by the windows; Ella, next to Rhett, and Wade on the seat across. The car was nearly empty with just the three of them.

"Have you ever been on a ship before, Ella?" Rhett asked, leaning over her head to peer out the window with her as the train pulled away from the Atlanta terminal.

"No, Uncle Rhett," she answered distractedly, more concerned with the current voyage.

"Ella hasn't been anywhere," Wade explained, smugly superior with the knowledge of his own trip to New Orleans with Uncle Rhett. He'd been even younger than Ella at the time, but it had made him feel very special and grown-up indeed to take a trip alone with his stepfather.

"I have so!" Ella cried, peeling herself away from the window and peering around Rhett to glare at her brother. Rhett, looking down at, laughed at the familiar set of her chin and the slight squint of her angry eyes. He leaned comfortably against the seat.

"You have both been to Tara, and Marietta, and now Philadelphia. We will stop tomorrow in Charleston, too."

"Isn't that where you're from, sir?" asked Wade, the subject of his near-worshipped stepfather a far more interesting prospect than the old sport of teasing his sister.

"Yes, Wade, it is."

"But you said you didn't grow up in the city, Uncle Rhett," said Ella.

"Ah, you are both right. My family had a plantation on the Ashley River -"

"Oh! Like Uncle Ashley!" cried Ella.

Rhett fought against a frown pulling at the corner of his mouth. "The same name, but a mere coincidence."

"A what?" asked Ella. Wade sighed loudly, signaling his impatience.

"The river was not named for him, nor he for it. They just happen to have the same name."

"Oh," Ella said, and stuck her tongue out at Wade.

"We Butlers had our plantation on the river outside the city, where we grew rice. But the Carolina lowcountry is very different from Georgia and Clayton County - where Tara is," Rhett added, seeing Ella's forehead pucker in confusion, though she managed to hold her tongue. "In the summer, the low country is hot and feverish. In the summer, the planters would all pack up and go elsewhere - to town, or even up North. Most of the time, my family went to Charleston. In the winter, too, Charleston has a social season. It used to be a time for horse races and parties. It hasn't been the same since the war, but every year in February they still throw the St. Cecilia ball, the most beautiful and extravagant party in the whole South."

"Ooh," Ella whispered, her whole face alight. "Can we go to the party, Uncle Rhett?"

Rhett stared at her soberly. He would have attacked any obstacle to have Bonnie received at the St. Cecilia, but for all the progress he had made in Atlanta, the upper echelons of Charleston would have been difficult to scale.

"If I can make it happen, Ella," he promised her, "you will have a wonderful time at the St. Cecilia, when you are old enough."

Wade made a face, uninterested by this talk of parties. "Did you race, sir?"

"No, son," Rhett said ruefully. "I...was no longer living in Charleston or South Carolina by the time I was old enough to race."

"Oh."

"Because your house burned down?" Ella asked, proud to have remembered.

"No," Rhett said slowly. It was damned awkward explaining his life to his children. Too much of his youth was not suitable to share. "That didn't happen until later, during the War. I had just left home to make my own way in the world."

"Like me," Wade said, unexpectedly fierce. "I don't care _what_ Mother says, I will leave to go to Harvard and join the army, just like my father. And Beau and I will go to Europe together, just like Uncle Ashley. Mother," Wade sneered, "hasn't been anywhere, either."

"Your Mother has been many places Wade," Rhett said softly. Wade did not know it was a softness underlaid with steel, hiding a surge of anger from his pugnacious stepson. "She has even been north, to Saratoga, but most of her traveling happened before the War. She has been working too hard since then to keep a roof over your heads to take much time for leisure travel," he rebuked Wade.

"But you travel," Wade said, and confusion was writ plain on his wrinkled brow.

"I have business interests in many places," Rhett lied smoothly, ignoring the small punch of guilt in his gut.

"Is that why you don't work at the bank anymore?" Ella asked.

"Yes," Rhett said, curtly and falsely.

"Oh." Ella accepted this easily, as a child used to disappointments and adult interests that went over her head.

A steward knocked on the door of their car.

"Captain Butler, supper is served."

Rhett acknowledged the message with thanks, and turned back to the children.

"Well, Ella, now it is time for your first supper on a train, I believe!" Rhett helped Ella to her feet.

"Wade, follow me. Do you remember dining in the car on the way to New Orleans?" Rhett asked him as they moved slowly through the hallway. Rhett led the way cautiously, mindful of the rattle of the cars and the difficulty for small feet trying to maintain their balance.

"Yes, sir, Uncle Rhett. It was even nicer than our dining room at home."

"A breath of fresh air," Rhett agreed sardonically.

"Does the food slide off the table?" Ella asked, stumbling a little with the jostling motion of the train and kept upright by Rhett's firm grip.

"Do you fall off your seat when you ride a train?"

"No, Uncle Rhett."

"Well, Miss Ella, your fried chicken will rest just as comfortably on your plate until you are ready to lift it to your mouth." Ella giggled as they entered the dining car and were shown to their small table. "Wade, it's time you began to learn how to behave like a gentleman. Please pull that chair out for your sister - thank you. Now you and I can take our seats." Rhett snapped his napkin open with a flourish that sent Ella into renewed peals of laughter. "Weren't you just about Ella's age when I let you have your first taste of wine? I think so. We will celebrate this first grown-up journey together." Rhett skillfully poured wine from the decanter into three glasses, and diluted the glasses for Wade and Ella until they were varying shades of pink.

Rhett lifted his glass and motioned the children to do the same. "To what should we toast?"

"To Philadelphia!" answered Wade quickly with all the excitement of this special occasion.

"To Mother?" Ella said, hesitantly, and Rhett could see in her uncertain face that she still had reservations about their separation.

"We can toast to them both. To beautiful cities and beautiful women - and that includes you, too, Ella." Ella was quickly charmed back out of homesickness and blushed beet red as the threesome clinked their glasses. Her face grew even redder as she choked and spluttered on the unfamiliar taste. Rhett's eyes twinkled as he handed her a napkin and a glass of plain water. Supper, which did include fried chicken, was served as the train chugged southeast into the night.

…

Just under a week later, the _Emma_ docked in Philadelphia. Wade and Ella were wide-eyed and wide awake with excitement. Their room on top floor of the Colonnade Hotel was higher than any place they could remember having been, higher even than the ballroom on Peachtree Street where they had played I Spy with Wade's telescope, trying to find landmarks too far for the other, or Beau, to see. Their suite had two bedrooms and a sitting area. Their bedroom had plush carpets to curl your toes in, and two beds with thick duvets. The high ceilings were perfect for jumping on the bed. Unlike Mammy or Prissy, Uncle Rhett just laughed when he came to see if they were dressed for bed and found pillows scattered by the undulating mattresses. He caught Ella in mid-air and tickled her before setting her on her feet. Wade and Ella pressed their faces to the large window and peered out at the strange city, asking their stepfather what each light was. Rhett shooed them to bed when he had run out of answers, both truthful and made-up.

"Uncle Rhett, will you help me brush my hair?" He eyed the wild mass of red curls that tumbled over her shoulders.

"Of course. Are you ready for the zoo tomorrow?" he asked, taking Ella's heavy hair brush from the girl. He sat behind her at the head of the bed.

"What will it be like?" asked Wade.

"Well, there will be hundreds of different animals, from all over the world."

"Uncle Rhett you have to count. Mother says I have to brush it 100 times."

"Like lions and - and zebras?" asked Wade.

"Certainly. I have to count, do I? One lion, two zebras, three elephants..."

Ella giggled. "Four cats?"

"Great big cats, like tigers and leopards."

"Five bears!" Wade chimed in. "And six...umm...camels!"

"Seven dogs."

"Maybe. And one hundred monkeys, just like you," Rhett answers, tugging on the ends of Ella's hair.

"I am not a monkey!"

"You're right, I must have confused you with your brother," Rhett said with a wink at Wade. "I think your hair is suitably brushed, Miss Ella."

"But we only got to seven!"

"Seven animals, but I was counting in my head. Are you ready for bed, now?"

"Prissy braids it, too."

"Well then, I will give that a try." The sections of hair Rhett worked with were uneven, and he ran out of length in one of them while there were still several inches of hair in the other two. When he tied the pink ribbon at the base, the tail seemed to hang lopsided and off center. It was certainly not as neat a braid as Prissy's nimble fingers would have crafted. "There. Now, it's bed time for you both."

"Good night, Uncle Rhett," the children echoed each other.

"Good night, Ella," Rhett said, kissing her forehead and pulling her covers up. "Good night, Wade," he continued, ruffling the boy's hair.

He started to leave the smaller bedroom when Wade called after him, "Uncle Rhett! You left the light on."

Of course. Wade and Ella were used to sleeping in the dark. He walked in between their beds again and turned down the gas lamp until it extinguished.

"Get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow."

"Thank you, Uncle Rhett," Wade said with a yawn.

Rhett moved slowly while his eyes adjusted to the dark, towards the square of illumination that came through the open door into the sitting room. He closed the children's bedroom door behind himself. He turned out the lamps that were lit in the sitting room as he crossed it. In his own room, he fumbled in the dark through his trunk until he found his silver flask. He dragged the desk chair over to the window and sat down heavily. Propping his feet on the window sill, he uncapped the flask and took a swig.

The trip to Philadelphia had been smooth but difficult. Although he had spent quite a bit of time with the children when he had been at home over the last months, the long days of traveling had taken a toll - both in the amount of time and energy spent entertaining his stepchildren, and with an emotional adjustment. This was the new world - Wade and Ella were his only children now. Bonnie was gone. There had not been another child; there might never be.

The latter thought was no longer quite so painful. After Bonnie's death, the suggestion had been made by several well-meaning people - his mother among them. Scarlett herself had even mentioned it in September. He still remembered how strongly he had wanted to slap her for that; it had been such a starkly emotional moment in an otherwise apathetic time. Watching Wade and Ella live - just live, being children, seeing the world through fresh eyes - was a bittersweet reminder of what he had lost. And yet it stirred something in him again, something that no longer felt like betrayal. Something that was nevertheless entirely too complicated.

He took another sip from his flask. They would spend a week in Philadelphia, maybe a few days more than that. He would have to decide if they would stop in to see his mother on the return trip. He knew she must have met Wade and Ella, but he had not been himself at the time. He didn't remember their meeting, or if she had spent any time with the children. She might have; he certainly hadn't been good company. Before the end of July, they'd be at Tara. With Scarlett.

He hadn't said anything about staying with her. Was she expecting that? This would actually be the first time he had even seen her plantation. She had never invited him - he had never asked. He could imagine it - not the specific architecture, not the exact curve of the lane or the map of the outbuildings, but the feel of it. It would feel like Scarlett; young and wild, struggling to match the gentility of its neighbors and simultaneously resisting the pressure to be anything other than it was. Lush and green and utterly incapable of gratitude for all the money and support he had funneled to it over the years. Oh, Will Benteen was grateful, if reluctantly so, but the spirit of the land would be untouched.

When his whisky was half gone, Rhett capped the flask and went to bed. It was an early night for him, although in the week of traveling with the children he had become somewhat accustomed to this schedule. Tonight, sleep was hard to find. He thought of his wife, of the sparkle in her eyes whenever she had been to Tara, like her childhood home restored some of what had been lost over the years. He thought of birth and renewal. When he finally fell asleep he dreamed he was walking through endless fields of cotton growing green and white before the war.

…

"Uncle Rhett!" shrieked Ella for at least the hundredth time - and the day was only half over. Rhett closed a hand over her small shoulder reassuringly as she pressed back against his legs. Wade, nowhere near as timid and reticent as his younger sister, had joined a knot of children standing along the outer fence of the buffalo enclosure.

Ella's favorite part of the zoo so far was clearly the bronze statue of lions in the entrance plaza, although the small prairie dogs had gone over well. Most of the live animals elicited squeals of "Uncle Rhett!" Size didn't matter: she didn't like the real lions, or the snakes; the bears, or the birds. She might have liked the birds, Rhett thought, as they followed Wade along the fence line, if she had not immediately had a close encounter with some exceptionally foul-smelling excrement which had splattered through the mesh and almost sprayed her shoes. It hadn't touched her, but she had actually cried, and Rhett could still feel the slick glide of sweat between his shoulder blades from having to carry her through the aviary in the increasing heat of the July morning.

As it turned out, the zoo had not been the best idea. Ella was timid if not outright terrified, and the presence of so many young children was making it harder to leave the grief of Bonnie's death behind, threatening to undo whatever emotional progress he had made. Every dark, curly head recalled her to him; and most unfairly, every fearful cry from Ella contrasted starkly with his memory of his bravest little girl. With effort, Rhett focused on Ella's complete trust in her stepfather and Wade's enthralled interest in everything around him.

"Uncle Rhett, did you see them? The buffalo?" Wade was nearly breathless as he rejoined his stepfather and sister.

Rhett's eyes twinkled. "I saw them and smelled them, Wade. You're a brave man to get that close to that smell."

Wade shrugged, clearly trying not to take the joking compliment too seriously. "Oh, it wasn't bad. I didn't even notice."

"Then I trust it hasn't turned your stomach. I think it's just about dinner time, what do you say?"

The curving paths back towards the main entrance and the nearby restaurant took them past the prairie dogs again, and Rhett paused to let Ella have a second chance at enjoying what were apparently the only animals in the whole zoo that did not frighten her. It was not the most direct route, but it was worth it when she nearly bent over laughing as the small rodents gamboled like kittens.

After dinner, they took the streetcar across the Schuylkill River to explore the placid park grounds, although Rhett had had to make a promise to Wade that they could return some other time for a second visit. Protesting their departure from the zoo, Wade had clearly been gearing up for a display of temper such as Rhett had never seen from the boy, nor known him to be capable of, but the reddening face and increasingly strident voice were all-too-clear signs. At the City Park Hotel, he bought overflowing bowls of ice cream for Wade and Ella, and two beers, one of which he shared with Wade. Whatever temper the boy had been working on earlier was forgotten with this adult indulgence.

…

Rhett truly regretted the well-intentioned visit to the zoo later that night. He had read about the first American zoo opening in Philadelphia, and on the heels of his heart-to-heart with Wade on the stairs in April, it had seemed like the perfect trip to take with his nearly estranged stepchildren. But Scarlett's half-voiced protest of Ella's sensibilities was more accurate than he had wanted to admit; and after the tearful outburst she had succumbed to in April he should have known better and instead willfully ignored it.

Ella's screams pierced the hotel suite in the middle of the night, and for one heart-stopping moment before he was fully awake he was blinking hard, wondering why the room was still dark if Bonnie was there with him - and Bonnie was crying, Bonnie was screaming, had that damn Lou let the light go out again?

Then the cobwebs of sleep cleared and he remembered the last year - everything in a rush that jolted his heart painfully in his chest. That wasn't, couldn't be Bonnie. The inchoate screams ended suddenly, and he fumbled for the matches he kept in easy reach for his cigars. One flared in the dark room and he saw Ella's tear-stained face peeking around the open door. He pushed himself up with one hand to sit back against his pillows, keeping the match held high so Ella, now able to see clearly, could run across to stand at the bedside. When the match neared his fingertips, he shook it out and lit another.

"Uncle Rhett?" his stepdaughter sniffed in the dark moments before the second match flared.

"Yes, Ella," he said calmly.

"Sometimes - sometimes Mother lets me - "

"You may sleep in here, Ella."

Ella wiped her nose on her fist and whispered, "Thank you, Uncle Rhett."

Rhett shook out the second match and pulled down the covers. He leaned sideways to tuck his arms under Ella's armpits and lifted her up on the bed next to him. She tucked her legs under the folded sheets and stared at him, long enough for both their eyes to adjust to the grey dark of night, somewhat alleviated by the glow the moon hanging low outside his window. Rhett looked down at his bare chest and realized Ella had probably never seen him like this. He slid from the bed, clad only in soft, worn drawers, and fumbled a dressing gown from one of the pegs in the hotel armoire. More properly attired, he sat on top of the covers next to Ella.

"Was it a bad dream?" he asked, easily remembering the old patterns of conversation with Bonnie.

Ella sniffed again. "Yes."

"You usually sleep with your mother?"

"After I have a bad dream. Sometimes I have to wake her up. She has bad dreams, too."

Rhett hummed through pursed lips. Ella plucked at the coverlet.

"It's nice, with Mother. She's nicer at night. Oh!" Ella clapped her hands over her mouth as if realizing what she had just said. Rhett chuckled softly.

"Does it help when you spend the night with your mother?"

"Yes. Uncle Rhett, what if she is having bad dreams now?"

"I am sure she's just fine, Ella."

"But - but I had a bad dream. What if mother is having bad dreams and I'm not home?"

Rhett sank down in the bed. Ella lay next to him, her eyes dark in the night, glinting like brandy from odd fragments of reflected light. "What did you dream about?"

"Oh - well - there were - those stripey horses like at the zoo - and - I didn't like them at all."

"You didn't like the zoo very much, did you?"

"Thank you for bringing us, Uncle Rhett…"

"But you didn't like all those animals."

Ella was silent.

"You can tell me, Ella."

"No," she said quietly.

"I think that is why you had these bad dreams tonight. I am sorry. I know you don't like animals very much, but I thought you might like them better at a zoo, with bars and fences. I promise we'll do different fun things the rest of our time here."

"How long will we stay here? I don't want Mother to be scared."

"Ella, I think you were scared because of everything you saw today. But I think your mother is doing just fine."

"Why aren't you at home anymore, Uncle Rhett?"

Ella's sudden change of subject left Rhett feeling whiplashed.

"I told you on the train that I have business in many different places."

"But don't you want to live with us?"

Rhett opened his mouth for the easy lie, but his tongue felt swollen and dry and immobile. "I'm very sorry I haven't been home much," he said instead, veering the conversation onto a different track. "Now it's very late at night and I think you should try to go back to sleep."

"Yes, Uncle Rhett," Ella said, ever docile and eager to please. She even yawned, as if succumbing to the power of Rhett's suggestion, and snuggled her head into the hotel pillow.

Rhett lay awake until he heard soft intermittent snores from the pillow next to him. It had not taken long for Ella to fall back asleep. He slipped from the bed and went to sit instead in the desk chair he had dragged near the window the night before. With one bare foot bent across his knee, he could push the curtain aside just enough with the raised foot to see out the gap into the street below. He remembered two girls leaving Scarlett's room on Christmas morning, and the nighttime interlude at Scarlett's bedside in the spring. That added up to months of nightmares, for both Ella and Scarlett. How often did they have bad dreams? Ella had been fine for nearly a week, and her bad dreams this night were almost certainly a result of a day that had been very frightening for her. But how often did Scarlett dream?

Rhett abruptly planted both his feet firmly on the floor and, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, he dropped his head into his raised hands. His fingers combed through his hair, and he flexed, pulling at the roots. Mindful of the sleeping child just a few feet away, he stifled a groan.

The children missed him. Wade was angry, Ella sad. Scarlett - well, Scarlett was probably both, and more besides. Scarlett was fire in his arms and poison in his blood. He looked ahead and recognized, though he struggled to accept it, that the time for some sort of decision would come soon. He was living a stunted half-life at his mother's, and this ad hoc system of arbitrary visits to Atlanta wasn't good for anyone involved. He could go back to Europe.

He could go home.

Had he been lying to himself for months, even years? Bonnie's death had changed everything; had changed himself, most of all. Had forced him to change, or drown in his own grief. He had cut away good feelings with the bad. If he hadn't lied to himself, he had lied to Scarlett. His love had not worn out, he had pruned it at the root, unable to live with it any longer. And that - that might have changed, like a stubborn weed growing up through rocky ground despite all odds against it. But could he live with her?

…

On Friday, they went shopping. Philadelphia was a center for imported European goods and it was a regional center for fine cabinet making. Neither of which interested Wade and Ella very much, but they were patient while Rhett trudged them through M Bouvier & Co. Ella perked up and became an enthusiastic helper when examining the fine dressing bureaus to select a birthday gift for Rhett's mother. She was even a bit too helpful when, as he was working out the details for the purchase and shipment of one rosewood bureau, she tugged his jacket until he bent his ear down to her.

"You should buy one for Mother, too."

Rhett's nostrils flared, but he smiled indulgently at her small, serious face.

"Does your mother need new furniture, Ella?" Ella nodded. "You don't think she has very fine furniture already?"

"This is prettier," Ella declared. Well, she was right at that, thought Rhett. The seven-year-old had better taste than her mother, if she saw the simple appeal in the clean lines of these unornamented bureaus, compared to the weighty, heavily carved pieces that filled her own home. And not just her mother's bedroom furniture, but every overdone inch of that monster showpiece of a house. A so-called house, a castle, a mausoleum. He didn't think Scarlett would appreciate the new furniture.

"I don't think your mother wants new furniture."

Ella chewed her lip for a moment, then smiled. "But she likes pretty things."

That was true, as it went, but Rhett didn't think this would fit in Scarlett's vision of pretty. "Ella, why don't we pick something out for your mother at the jeweler's?"

"She should have this, too," Ella said stubbornly.

Rhett stood abruptly. This scene had become suddenly, painfully, too much like that last trip with Bonnie, when shopping had degenerated into endless requests for gifts for Mother, accompanied by an increasing frequency of questions on when Mother would join them or when they would go home to see her.

"Two of the dressing tables," he said curtly to Mr. Bouvier. "This one; and one other - your selection will be fine, I'm sure."

"No!" cried Ella, her voice every bit as firm as her mother's. "This one."

She was patting the finely inlaid stool in front of a wide table with slim legs and gentle curves, fitted with tasteful gilt trim and contrasting in every way with the sharply angled, heavyset, gaudily carved bureau that was part of Scarlett's existing bedroom set.

Ella sat on the stool and swung her feet as she peered in the mirror. "This one is perfect, Uncle Rhett."

His mouth turned down at the corner as he nodded at Mr. Bouvier. "I believe we have our instructions, sir. The second bureau will be going to Atlanta. Wade, mind your sister while I finish with Mr. Bouvier."

After the surprisingly expensive furniture purchase, he let Wade and Ella empty a nearby toy store and choose as many books as they could lift from the bookseller. Wade managed a mighty stack that towered above his head. Rhett cut off Ella's impending tears after her stack of books toppled when she tried to lift them by letting her add two more picture stories, and buying the whole tumbled pile.

Again, it was Ella who pushed him to remember her mother. He suggested supper, and she shook her head. "But Uncle Rhett, you said we would pick out something for Mother at the - the jew-eh-lers," she said, stumbling over the mouthful of a word.

"Ah, yes, Miss Ella, you are right." At the jeweler's, Rhett saw even more of Wade's attitude toward Scarlett. He had not connected any animosity on his stepson's part to his request some months ago to leave with Rhett, but he was beginning to realize he had not been paying much attention to the boy's feelings. Wade trailed his stepfather and his eager sister with his skinny arms crossed over his chest and a frown marring his handsome face. He scowled, and even snorted every time Ella pointed out something new. When Rhett tried to ask his opinion, the boy just shrugged. No 13-year-old boy could be expected to show very much interest in buying jewelry, but this sneering attitude went beyond mere lack of interest. Rhett felt his temper flare with every eye roll from Wade, and the muscles in his jaw twitched as he clamped down on an anger he had never once directed at any of his children.

Ella settled on a pretty golden necklace with a pendant of diamonds formed to resemble a flower. With a plain gold chain, it was much simpler than the other contents of Scarlett's jewelry box. It was a girl's necklace, more than a woman's. Somehow, that seemed fitting. Scarlett had left girlhood behind far too young. And Ella would soon be of an age to wear something like this, so even when Scarlett neglected it, as was sure to happen, the purchase wouldn't be forgotten for long.

"Mother isn't going to like that," Wade said firmly when the jeweler retreated to box up the gift.

"Wade!" Ella's upper body jerked like she was stamping a foot, though her legs didn't move. "That's not true! Take it back."

"It's just a dumb necklace."

"Wade," Rhett said, with a warning edge to his voice.

"I'm just telling the truth," Wade mumbled. "She won't care about some dumb necklace. I don't see why we had to get her anything."

"Ella, why don't you go see if you can take the shopping bag with your gift?" Rhett waited until Ella had passed hopefully out of earshot. He looked down at Wade, leaning back to study the boy's face.

"What does it matter if Ella picks out a necklace for your mother, son?"

Wade just shrugged again.

"I see. Well if it doesn't matter at all, then you can refrain from saying things that will only hurt your sister."

"Fine," Wade mumbled.

"Pardon me?"

"Yes, sir," Wade repeated more clearly. Ella returned holding the shopping bag in one hand, and slipped her free hand into Rhett's. He put a firm hand on Wade's shoulder as they left the shop. The boy's muscles were tense under his palm. Rhett knew the discussion was not over.

…

On Tuesday they boarded the packet back down the river for Charleston. Rhett sent Scarlett a brief telegram informing her of his intent to spend a few days in the city, then hired a cab to take them to his mother's house. He had no real reason for taking his stepchildren to visit, except, he reluctantly admitted, that he was not ready to see their mother again, and having disdained the company of one of their own servants had no comfortable way of sending them on alone.

Ella Kennedy had never had any grandparents of her own, and Wade had been very young when Gerald O'Hara, the only grandparent he had ever met, had died. Pittypat and Henry Hamilton were fixtures in their Atlanta lives, but they were Aunt Pitty and Uncle Henry, and their role in the lives of Scarlett's children was not that of indulgent grandparents. Ella, being younger and of a more enthusiastic temperament than Wade, was especially excited at the prospect of a grandmother.

"Will your mother like us, Uncle Rhett? May I call her Grandmother? You're not my father, can she still be my grandmother?"

Her questions came so rapidly Rhett could hardly answer them. He tugged one of her reddish curls - her hair had grown ever more unruly with each day under his lax supervision - and reassured her. "I am sure my mother will be happy to be called Grandmother, and how could anyone not like either one of you?"

Ella beamed and Wade scuffed his shoes together.

"Is your house very big, Uncle Rhett? Where will we sleep? Is it very far?" And on Ella went, her breath barely breaking long enough for Rhett to fit in an answer. She didn't seem bothered by the questions that went unanswered, her mind always two leaps ahead on the next idea.

Rhett conceded that, after over a week with his stepdaughter, he was more than ready to bring in reinforcements.

…

By midafternoon, and over their boisterous protests, Wade and Ella were settled in their own rooms on the third floor of the house on the Battery for a nap. Their objections had been soothed by the welcome attentions of their new grandmother, for both children had immediately taken to the dignified Mrs. Butler, her soft voice and reserved affection. Even Wade shed the manly dignity he was slowly growing into and allowed enthusiastic interest in the gentle coddling of Grandmother Butler to bubble over. Although Scarlett had been trying, in her own unpracticed and impatient way, to pay more attention to her surviving children, in Rhett's drawn-out absences following Melanie's death it had been almost a year since Wade and Ella had received such kind interest from an adult.

Rhett had gone out on the piazza to light a cigar. He was leaning against one of the white painted columns, hands in his pockets and cigar clamped between his teeth, when a soft rustling of fabric behind him announced his mother's arrival.

He freed one hand from his pocket and plucked the cigar from his mouth. "Are they asleep?"

"I doubt it. They're very excited to be here, and I think too full of nervous energy from the traveling."

"It's been a busy week."

"Rhett, your stepchildren are darling. I should scold you for keeping them from me."

Rhett adjusted the angle of his shoulder against the column, took a drag from his cigar, and said nothing.

"You might have brought them with Bonnie, before. You _might_ have brought their - the whole family."

Rhett could not admit to his mother that he hadn't even thought of it. She had no real idea of the truth behind his visit with Bonnie; that taking his daughter out of Atlanta had been more about a preemptive strike against Scarlett than about a family trip. The absence of Wade and Ella would have likely affected his wife not a whit, therefore, bringing them along had never even crossed his mind.

And as for _their_ mother - no way in Hell would Scarlett have been welcome to accompany him to Charleston, even in the unlikely circumstance of her possessing any interest in doing so. Not then, and he didn't care to be rebuked for the present.

"I suppose I was not sure they would be welcomed. Not everyone is so welcoming of stepchildren, or stepgrandchildren."

"You must come to visit more often, as a family."

Rhett's mother was tenacious and skilled in social subterfuge, he gave her that. She didn't employ it sharply or maliciously, as some ladies did, but she had had the same training of every gentlewoman in Charleston. The ability to make an intimate meaning clear without disgracing yourself by mentioning it openly was high art in her circles.

"Perhaps," he said shortly.

"You haven't asked after our news at all, darling."

Rhett took one last drag on his cigar, then flicked it down onto the crushed shell pathway. It tumbled end over end then came to a rest in the gravel where it lay still smoking. He turned to his mother, hand back in his pocket, but smiled with apparent warmth. "What news of home, Mother? You look well, of course. And how is my dear sister? If we must talk about family, I take it I should of course inquire after my - equally dear brother."

Eleanor waved her hand and gave her eldest son a sour glance. "Can't you think of what news I may have for you?"

"And ruin whatever surprise you are planning? No, Mother, I shan't guess and take the risk of spoiling your fun," he returned, fully aware that his refusal to play along was the real spoil. He did see his mother roll her eyes, although she cut the annoyed gesture short.

"As of just a few days ago, Rhett, you are now an uncle. Since you were already on the way here, we decided to wait to give you the news in person."

An uncle - of course. He certainly hadn't forgotten his sister's increasingly obvious pregnancy during the time of his residency in Charleston.

"And how are the new Madonna and child?" he asked smoothly.

"Don't be flippant, Rhett. Rosemary is doing very well. I believe she would be happy to see you in a day or two."

Eleanor Butler was no longer young, but her eyes were still sharp. It did not escape her notice that the pockets of Rhett's jacket had bulged out, as if the hands inside them had turned into fists. Rhett's stony countenance forbore any sympathy from her.

"I would love to see her," Rhett said after a long pause. "Whenever she is ready for company."

Rhett dropped a careless kiss against his mother's cheek on his way into the house.

"I believe I'll catch up on some business while the children nap. We will see you for supper, Mother."

Eleanor sighed as the door shut softly behind her son, her empty hands resting loosely, palm up, in her lap.

…

"Are you ready to see your nephew?" Rosemary asked, looking up from arranging the bouquet Rhett had brought her. Rhett's teeth gleamed white under his mustache in a tight smile. Rosemary nodded to the servant who had been hovering in the parlor entrance, and the girl disappeared.

Ella, who had been plinking at piano keys under Eleanor's supervision, hurried to her stepfather's side. "Is he our cousin, Uncle Rhett?" Rhett drew her onto his knee.

"Certainly, Ella. Little Tom is my sister's son, which makes him your cousin."

Ella plucked at Rhett's sleeve. "So I have five cousins now?"

Rhett stroked his mustache as he pretended to consider Ella's words. "Well baby Tom, that's one cousin. And your cousins at Tara, right? And - who else?" he teased.

"Beau!"

"Oh, of course. So Beau Wilkes is cousin number five." Rhett looked down at Ella's wrinkled nose and puckered forehead. "Why do you ask, Ella?"

"Because - well, because – I'd rather have a girl cousin!" she blurted out. The adults - Rhett, Rosemary, and Eleanor - all laughed, and Ella's freckled face flushed.

"I'm sorry we don't have any girl cousins for you in Charleston, Ella dear," said Rosemary gently. As with her mother, she had taken immediately to her brother's quiet, well-behaved stepchildren. "Perhaps in a few years your luck will have changed. I hope you like Tom, even if he's not a baby girl," Rosemary added as she lifted her arms. The nurse had returned, and gently laid the sleeping baby boy in his mother's uplifted embrace.

Rhett set Ella gently on her feet and they approached his sister together. Rhett joined her on the long settee and Ella stood at his knee. "Would you like to meet your cousin, Wade?" Rhett asked of the boy, who had been sitting, quietly bored, in a chair by the window, watching the street in front of the house. Obediently if not enthusiastically, Wade shuffled over as well.

Rhett watched as his stepchildren leaned over the baby. Wade mumbled something almost entirely inaudible, but Ella cooed with delight at the wrinkled little face. Wade's eyes lifted to Rhett's again almost immediately and at his stepfather's nod he retreated back to his chair. Ella shuffled her feet as she studied the baby.

"He's so tiny!" she cried, her tone dropping almost to a whisper as Rhett shushed her.

"You were tiny, too," Rhett answered.

Ella looked away from the baby to give him a questioning look. "Did you know me when I was a baby, Uncle Rhett? I thought we came to live with you when I was older."

Rhett could not completely hide his grimace, but his face smoothed into unreadable lines after just a moment. "Yes, Miss Ella Lorena, I did know you. When I first met you, you were not much bigger than little Mr. Thomas here, and you slobbered all over my very nice shirt."

Ella's face went red, but Rhett laughed and tweaked her hair. She snuggled up to his shoulder, and went back to studying the baby.

Rhett leaned over to peer at the baby in his sister's arms. "He's a handsome little boy, Rosemary," he said casually.

"Would you like to hold him, Rhett?" she asked. The morning visit which had seemed so relaxed and easy was quite suddenly revealed to be a fraud. Rhett's eyes went black as his entire body stiffened away from mother and child. Tension rose so strong and thick between the adults in the room that even Wade looked up from the window.

Ella, excited and oblivious to the dark looks passing over her head, leaned away from Rhett to look at the baby again. When no one moved, she glanced back to her stepfather, puzzled. "Oh please, Uncle Rhett, can't we hold the baby?"

Eleanor intervened. "I think you should, Ella," she said, as she rose from her chair and moved swiftly to the group on the settee. "Rhett, put Ella on your lap so you can help her. Ella, you should ready your arms like so. Rosemary, lay Tom in her lap. Now, Ella, make sure you have an arm under the baby's head - very good! Rhett," she continued, her voice becoming stern, "you must help Ella. Support her arms with your own." Eleanor's blue eyes were bright and determined as Rhett stared her down. Neither appeared willing to bend, and for several moments the room was quiet but for Ella's wordless coos. Finally, feeling strangely like a scolded child, Rhett loosely wrapped his own arms around Ella.

Eleanor smiled and touched her son's shoulder gently, still looking into his depthless eyes. It was another long moment before Rhett dropped his head and looked over Ella's shoulder at his nephew.

The baby had started to stir, and his eyes blinked open. They were the indeterminate blue grey of a newborn. Rhett strengthened his arms in their loose embrace. Ella squealed, and he shushed her gently. The baby squirmed a little, and his mouth moved as if suckling the empty air.

"Look, Uncle Rhett!" Ella cried, more quietly now. "He's making funny faces."

"He's - he's hungry," Rhett said. After clearing his throat, he was gratified to hear his voice sounded light and smooth.

"Oh," Ella wondered.

Rhett freed the arm that wrapped around the baby's legs and bottom, and tugged the hem of the blanket away from the baby's chin. Little Tom had a squashed sort of face, round with chubby cheeks, Butler dark lashes and hair that already grew thick on his soft scalp. His arms worked their way free of the loosened blanket and batted at Ella, the tiny fingers opening and closing until they gripped the lace trim on her pinafore. Ella giggled, her shoulders shaking against Rhett's chest.

The feeling of iron bars slowly tightening their grip around his chest that had been steadily increasing its pressure all morning began to ease. Ella's eyes were bright as she watched the baby's movements. He looked over her shoulder and supported her arm and the baby both, and felt at last a stirring of familial warmth for the new life. With his free hand, he worked his finger into the baby's fist, lifting it away from Ella's pinafore. The boy's grip was strong, though the tiny fingers didn't completely circle Rhett's own. The little hand was warm. Both children were warm and solid in his arms, and though Rhett felt a quick sting of tears in the corners of his eyes, they disappeared with a blink.

The baby's mouth puckered, then opened wide and a wail shattered the stillness of the parlor. Rhett's boisterous laugh nearly drowned the lusty cry.

"Yes, he is hungry." Loosening his arms around Ella, he scooped the child out from beneath her and with his large palms cupping the newborn's rear and head, held him out for his mother to reclaim. Rosemary smiled at her brother as she stood, and kissed his cheek warmly.

"I'm so happy you could be here, Rhett," she whispered before she took Tom out to be fed.

Ella had clapped her hands over her ears when Rhett had taken the baby, and dropped them only after the last swish of Rosemary's skirt had disappeared. Eleanor laughed and, holding out her hand, led Ella back to the piano. As they began tinkering again, Rhett went to sit by Wade at the window.

Rhett sat quietly, waiting for Wade to be the first to speak, if he would.

"Do we have to go back to Atlanta?" Wade asked abruptly. "We could stay here. You want to be by your sister's baby, don't you?"

Rhett leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his thighs. "Wade, your home is in Atlanta. We'll stay here a few more days, but I have to bring you home to your mother. I made a promise not to keep you both away too long."

Wade opened his mouth, but whatever he intended to rebut was cut short by the deep-voiced announcement from the Calhoun's grave manservant.

"Captain Butler, Mrs. Butler, dinner is now served. Mrs. Calhoun will join you."

Wade looked sullen and cross, and though he went with the adults to the dining room without protest, Rhett recognized a temporary reprieve. The conversation he'd had with Wade back in April clearly still needed to be resolved.

…

 _Text Notes: The lion statue was probably not there yet in 1974. I found one sketch that purported to be the entrance in 1874 and featured the statue. It was not on the list of artworks in the zoo's annual report at that time and was listed in another place as having been cast in 1875 - both in sources (one primary) that trump an internet caption._

" _Philadelphia was a center for imported European goods and it was a regional center for fine cabinet making" is almost a direct quote from one of my favorite resources, "An Antebellum Plantation Household: Including the South Carolina Low Country Receipts and Remedies of Emily Wharton Sinkler."_

 _Other Notes: Thank you all the reviews, and guests. I am no longer writing this story so I am not doing all of this in one week! I don't know about you but I like having something to read on a regular basis. That is also buying me time to keep writing (new stuff). I wrote LALO between roughly February-September of last year and then it took a few months to edit and write the last chapter. But, I have a busy weekend, so I am pushing this one out a little early. I don't want to forget on Sunday._


	13. Chapter 13

_Clayton County, Georgia, June 1874_

"Don't dawdle," Scarlett snapped at Prissy as they stepped down from the train and moved briskly across the worn planking of Jonesboro station's platform.

Scarlett had sent a telegram from the Atlanta depot just that morning. If no one had received the message, Scarlett would just have to find someone willing to drive them out to Tara. There was bound to be at least one familiar face to ask for help.

Out front of the station, Will Benteen was waiting in the same rickety old wagon.

"How has this old thing not fallen to pieces yet?" Scarlett asked sharply as she settled her skirts about her on the sagging bench. Prissy clambered up in the back with the luggage and Will settled down next to her, his familiar long straw between his teeth.

"It's sturdier than it looks, Scarlett, and it's nice to see you as well."

"Oh - fiddle dee dee, of course I'm happy to see you, Will. You're looking well. How are Suellen and the children?"

"We're all doing just fine, though a mite tired with the new baby in the house."

"Of course," Scarlett murmured. She had sent a package full to bursting with baby things, and then completely forgotten about her new nephew. The Benteens' first son. She couldn't remember the baby's name. "And how is the baby?"

Will beamed in a completely unprecedented and uncharacteristic way as he told her all about his new son. Baby Robert's every wriggle was a sure sign of prodigious capabilities - ah, she remembered now, remembered rolling her eyes at _Robert Lee_ and vaguely regretting that her own boy was also named for one of the men who had led the South into ruin. As Will rambled on, still with the wide smile that did not match his laconic Cracker drawl, Scarlett thought if she only had another baby - oh, if she'd only had _that_ baby, the one they'd lost, for she possessed a certainty that had strengthened to nearly religious fervor in the intervening years that she would have had a son. She would not have named him after the South's failed heroes. Perhaps, as Bonnie had been named for Queens, their son would have been named for a King - for the Kings of Ireland! He would have been such a strong boy, in need of a strong name. If Rhett would only be willing to try again—

Scarlett was grateful that the wooded path to Tara kept their faces in shadow. Making sure Will's eyes were on the road, she hurriedly raised her right hand to dash the tears from her cheeks. It was silly to think such things. It was useless to look back.

Suellen was rocking the baby on the porch with her daughters playing in the front yard when the wagon rolled up to the plantation house. Will helped Scarlett down to the packed earth of the drive. Prissy made herself scarce, leaving the luggage for other help. The useless girl!

Scarlett smiled sweetly at her younger sister as she sashayed toward the porch steps. Her nieces clustered at her skirts, greeting her with exuberant voices. She kissed each on the forehead, but when she failed to provide presents, the girls returned to their games.

"You're looking well, Sue," Scarlett said with too much honey in her tone. Sue rocked, as if the motion of the chair constituted an acknowledging nod.

"So this is baby Robert?" Scarlett continued, her smile tightening with gritted teeth. Dutifully, she leaned over the small bundle in her sister's arms. The baby was pale, already washed out like his father, with wispy hair that lay pinkish on his soft scalp and faint brows that were barely visible. He was awake, his eyes open and still newborn blue, but given the rest of his coloring Scarlett figured they would pale to the color of sun-bleached sky, like his father's. "He's already such a handsome little boy," she flattered.

"Thank you, Scarlett," her sister responded evenly.

Scarlett stroked a finger gently down the naked arm that waved free of his light cotton blankets, and the baby caught her finger in his tiny fist. Her mouth went dry and her stomach convulsed. She slid her finger easily from the baby's grasp and quickly took a rocking chair across from Suellen.

Suellen's face was bland, her eyebrow quirking and smoothing so rapidly it might have been a trick of the sunlight through the leaves of a tree. "How are your children, Scarlett? Did you leave them in Atlanta?"

Although the tone was smooth and sweet, years of experience with Suellen had taught Scarlett to recognize better, but she refused to rise to the bait.

"Rhett took them to Philadelphia. They're opening a zoo there and he thought the children would enjoy it."

"But not you?" Suellen cooed, the corners of her pale mouth twitching.

Scarlett could not - and would not - explain it to her sister, so she shrugged as if the separation was of no importance. She hoped, if she seemed not to care, it would appear that she had not been interested in the trip - and not that she had not been invited. "They'll join me here in a few weeks."

Suellen scowled openly. It rankled her that Scarlett came and went as she pleased, rusticating for pleasure but free to return to the cosmopolitan city - and all her attached wealth - whenever she chose. But Scarlett had as much ownership in Tara as she did, and Suellen knew as well as her sister and husband that without Scarlett's unfaltering support over the years, Tara would not be supporting any O'Haras. They might have held on to the property without Scarlett's money, but it would be a ruin, not a productive farm. Unable to take on that quarrel, Sue cast her mind about for another angle of attack.

"And Captain Butler? Will your husband be joining us? He never has been out to Tara, has he."

Scarlett's green eyes flashed. "Rhett's a very busy man. I'm not sure he can stay long."

"However did he find the time to take the children to Philadelphia?" Suellen questioned with wide-eyed innocence. "Oh, well, it's a pity he couldn't have balanced the trip to spend more time here with _you_...all."

Scarlett looked away across the lawn and set the chair to rocking, too quickly. This had all happened so fast - Rhett's trip with the children, her decision to go to Tara - her request for him to bring the children here. She had not thought this through. Would he deposit the children on the doorstep and leave immediately? What ammunition _that_ would give Suellen! Yet it might be better than the alternative - what if he did intend to stay at Tara? Where would he sleep?

All of Atlanta had gossiped about the shameful truth of her marriage bed, known of the separate bedrooms and the scandalous proof of it in the somehow well-known fact that Bonnie had slept in her father's room. It was too much to hope that Suellen, even out here at Tara, might have remained ignorant. Even if no vindictive correspondent had exposed her in a letter, Suellen had been there for that terrible time after Bonnie's death, been in the house when Rhett had locked himself away from everyone, in his own bedroom, with Bonnie. Sue was too keen in her jealousy and malice toward Scarlett not to have noticed. But Scarlett couldn't ask for a separate bedroom to be made up for Rhett at Tara. Knowing what was still, after all, a rumor, as no polite conversation could be had to verify it, was entirely different than acknowledging it in the open with such a request.

Her stomach fluttered so rapidly she couldn't help but touch a palm to her belly, as if the firm pressure might calm her. She was torn between nerves and giddy anticipation, and wanted no part of either feeling. What if Rhett _did_ stay at Tara - what if he stayed with her?

It was too wonderful, and too dreadful, to contemplate. They hadn't shared a room in years, half a decade, hadn't fallen asleep in the same bed except for that one time - and he had been gone in the morning, taking most of her foolish, tentative hopes with him. And what hope had remained, what little she had clung to as that new life had grown within her, had been bitterly and painfully lost upon his return. It would be foolish to hope now. Rhett's feelings were clear as mud to her, his motivations and actions confusing and misleading. She couldn't begin to guess at him. What would he do?

If he stayed, what would _she_ do?

Scarlett felt the slight quaver of the floorboards under her feet just before a familiar voice said, "Miss Sue, time fo' dat baby to be sleepin."

"Mammy!" Scarlett cried, turning her head back to her sister as their old caregiver bent stiffly to take the baby boy. Scarlett couldn't help the hot flare of anger and jealousy that fired her cheeks with color. What about her own children? Mammy had left them in Atlanta for supposed retirement out here at Tara - if she could still care for Suellen's brats, why had she left Wade and Ella? Why had she left her, Scarlett? Her mouth tightened into a mulish line.

"Aft'noon, Miss Scarlett. Been too long, chile, too long since you come to see yo old Mammy. What you makin' such a sour face for?"

With an effort, Scarlett curled her lips into a more pleasing smile, full of docile sweetness - a smile too familiar to Mammy, who saw through most of her deceptions and charms.

"It has been too long, Mammy, but now that I'm here, I hope to stay the whole summer. If it's not too much trouble," she added, simpering at Suellen, who scowled but did not protest.

"Didn't you bring yo babies to come see ole Mammy?"

"Wade and Ella are in Philadelphia with Rhett. They'll be here in a few weeks."

Mammy's eyes sharpened but Scarlett kept her face purposefully placid, and the old black lady harrumphed. "Philadelphie! Cain't be good for those chirren to be spendin' time up North, I don't know what Cap'n Butler thinkin', takin' those babies up there. And Philadelphie a Yankee city!" Mammy's voice became harder to hear as she shuffled back in the house, but she kept up her monologue, switching now to her old, familiar ruse of criticisms under her breath that could not be acknowledged and therefore, neither rebuked nor denied. "Takin' those babies up North, and leavin' their momma down here. I jes' dunno what Cap'n Butler be thinkin, doin a thing like that, when I know sho as everyone else he ain't been spending near enough time at home of late..."

Scarlett's sweet expression darkened into a scowl before the door had swung shut behind Mammy.

"I see she's not too old to take care of your baby," Scarlett snapped, rounding on Suellen who continued to rock placidly. "I let her come home to retire, and here you are making her work again!"

"I'm not making her do anything, Scarlett. She wants to help with the baby. Been a long time since she had a baby to take care of."

"She's old. She needs to rest. You shouldn't let -"

"Why should I stop her from helping me with one of my babies? Didn't she raise all three of your children? She didn't come home to retire, Scarlett, she came home because she was broken hearted when your daughter died. More broken hearted than you, as far as I could tell, and no wonder since she did more raising of that child than you ever -"

Scarlett's firm slap spun Suellen's head to one side and the sound rang clearly in the still country air. The three little girls on the lawn stopped their tea party and turned as one to stare, open-mouthed, at their mother and aunt, both now standing on the porch.

"Don't you ever talk about Bonnie," Scarlett hissed, before turning on her heel and escaping into the white house.

Up in her room, her old, familiar room, Scarlett sank heavily on to the threadbare coverlet on her soft mattress. It gave easily beneath her slight weight. She toed the rag rug beside the bed, bent to unlace her boots and, tugging them off, pressed her stockinged feet into the thick knots. The rug was soft from long use.

The bed was smaller than her bed at home, the bed that had once been theirs. It was hard to remember what it was like to share a bed with Rhett, and hard to picture him in this sanctuary. In her memory, he loomed so large that it seemed impossible he would fit, even alone.

Scarlett wiped angrily at the wet on her cheeks. Suellen's words, thoughts of Rhett and beds, it all led back to Bonnie. A year barely gone and it did not feel any different. There had been no magical moment of relief granted by that bitter anniversary.

How dare Suellen! Scarlett pushed herself off the bed and started to pace. Suellen had three little girls all healthy and strong, her new baby boy; kind, loving, dependable Will for a husband. She had no idea, and never had, what Scarlett had sacrificed and suffered for her family - including Suellen! Hadn't it all begun back in the dark days at Tara during the war? Hadn't she worked all day long, bent over rows of cotton in the burning sun, worked her fingers bloody and raw? They had all looked to her for answers, barely a girl herself and responsible for feeding and clothing and protecting the slaves and the children and her sisters, and Gerald, and Melanie. She had married Frank to save them all - given up her own home to keep the roof over their heads! And the work had never ended, ever; it was never enough to make sure her family would stay safe.

Suellen had no idea. She had lived off Scarlett's strength and charity; her sister's life and livelihood were secure because she, Scarlett, had made it so. Scarlett jerked up the bedroom window, opening it to what little breeze stirred the July fug, then strode across the room again.

As she paced, Scarlett's fingers were busy on the buttons of her bodice, tugging them free until she could shrug it off and pull at the ties and hooks of her skirt. She threw the clothes carelessly over the bench at the dressing table. She bent her arms awkwardly behind her back to tug at the laces of her corset.

Suellen was an ungrateful bitch. Scarlett stopped, unhooked her busk, tossed the corset after her dress. "Ungrateful bitch," she hissed out loud. It made her feel better, took some of the stress and tension from her shoulders. She stood up straighter and rolled her shoulders comfortably. Bending, she untied her garters with quick tugs and slipped the stockings from her calves as she stepped over to the bed. She shoved the coverlet off the foot and crawled up on the clean, soft sheets. Laying back, her carefully pinned hairstyle poked her head uncomfortably. She looked up at the ceiling as she pulled pins from her head and collected them in the dip above her chemise-covered belly button. She ran her fingers through her hair to make sure all the pins were out, then gathered them in one hand and carefully poured them into a puddle on the floor. Scarlett punched the pillow and flopped back down.

Suellen wouldn't spoil this. She was home, her children would be joining her, she had time until then to rest - and think. Her husband might come to stay.

No, she wouldn't let Suellen spoil anything about this summer.

...

In the middle of the night, Scarlett jerked awake with pounding heart and tear-damp face. Her afternoon nap had left her feeling rested; too rested. Her sleep too easily disturbed. Familiarity had not made the dream any easier to bear in the dreaming, but instead of clinging to fear when she awoke she was resigned. Resigned to the interruption, to the loss of sleep as her mind struggled to avoid the dream by staying awake despite her conscious wishes. Resigned to the grim feeling of loss which unfurled emptiness in her breast, and that never lessened for familiarity. The fears were too strong, too current. It seemed all too believable that she might be striving forever after a man who would never again turn back for her.

The late afternoon and evening had passed uneventfully. No one mentioned Suellen's cruel comments on the porch. Her sister didn't apologize, but perhaps she realized no apology would have been accepted. Supper had been cordial between the adults and dominated by eager questions from the girls. Grateful for an excuse not to converse, no one had reprimanded the children for speaking out of turn.

The sight of Suellen's baby in Mammy's arms still made her heart quail and blanched her face, but Scarlett had held her tongue.

Sighing, Scarlett rolled toward the window and slipped her arms beneath her pillow. The moon was low and bright, shining strongly into her bedroom. It was only days away from being full; it would probably have reached that peak state by the time her children arrived in Philadelphia. Would it wane and wax and grow full again before she had her family home?

"God bless the moon, and God bless me," she whispered, an old snippet of verse half-remembered from her father, and wished fervently for some measure of blessing in her life.

...

With Suellen's accumulated bitterness temporarily expunged by her first barrage of insults, the sisters were able to live together peacefully if not exactly harmoniously - mostly, by avoiding each other.

Scarlett spent morning hours shut up in her mother's old study, reading the accounts from the store and writing detailed notes directing Hugh in its management. She reluctantly set work aside when Mammy came to scold her to dinner. Tara never failed to invigorate her, and after the midday meal she would set out with Will to see the fields, walk the verge of the Flint River on her own, or take her calm old mare out along the familiar paths and trails of her youth. Out in the County, on her own land, work was easily forgotten. The pulse of the world around her had a familiar rhythm which was a balm unto her busy mind.

Tara was calm; too calm, without Ella's constant, disordered interruptions. She missed her daughter, as she had never cared to before. _But_ , she tried to defend to herself, _I've never really been away from her before. Not like Bonnie, when Rhett took her away._ Though it made her uncomfortable, she had to admit to herself with that sometimes deplorable streak of innate honesty that she wouldn't have missed Ella before. Ella was still flighty and annoying, but a bright spot of loving optimism between Wade's anger and Rhett's indifference.

Scarlett despaired of Wade during her long afternoons. She hoped the gift of this trip with his stepfather might help, but it was just as possible if not even more likely that he would come home even angrier, unwilling to be left behind by Rhett, left to stay with her and unhappy about it still. She allowed herself a futile moment to wish she hadn't given up on him in those months when Rhett had taken Bonnie, hadn't allowed his shyness to rebuff her and his animation in Melanie's company to hurt her. If she had known how to reach him then, perhaps he wouldn't be so very far now.

More than anything, Scarlett thought of Rhett, but though she had come to understand him better in September, it was not an insight that helped her now. "Not yet," he had said, but she didn't know what to make of those words. Was afraid to pin any hopes on them at all.

A clumsily written card from Ella arrived with the mail. The note made scarce mention of the zoo but presented an encyclopedia of ice cream flavors she had tried. There was nothing from Wade, but Rhett had added a concise postscript, squeezed in tiny script at the bottom of the card: "Everyone well. Join you at Tara before August." She cursed the lack of grammar in the note which made it impossible to guess if he included himself in that statement.

...

 _Charleston, South Carolina, July 1874_

"Why don't we stay here?" Wade asked with a poor, unpracticed imitation of nonchalance during their last supper in Charleston.

"This is not your home, Wade," Rhett answered. He allowed himself a sideways glance down the table to his mother, but her face was just as bland as his own best mask.

"But it's your home now, isn't it?"

"No, it is not," Rhett replied, neither a lie nor the truth.

"But you've been away from Atlanta. You don't live with us anymore."

Rhett did not need to see his mother's face to know how hollow his excuses and denials had become. "I have had business in Charleston, Wade. That is all. I've been back in Atlanta—"

"But you don't live there. Most of your things aren't in your room." Wade lifted his chin defiantly with this casual confession of snooping. His emphasis on " _your_ room" was obvious.

"That's enough, Wade. I promised your mother not to keep you both away too long. It's time to go home."

"But that's not my home! I don't want to go back. Please, Uncle Rhett," he pleaded, his voice cracking, "can't I live with you?"

"You have a home in Atlanta," Rhett said, sidestepping the question of his own home and where exactly that was without finesse.

Wade's face grew stormy. "I hate it there. I hate her!"

"Wade Hampton!" Rhett barked, his voice louder and harsher than he had ever used with her children. He ripped his napkin from his lap and slapped it on the table with a heavy smack. Ella, whose unwatched face had been screwing up as her lower lip trembled, suddenly burst into a wailing sob. Eleanor pushed her chair back with a scrape.

"Come, Ella, let's go get you ready for bed, darling," Eleanor soothed, helping the little girl to unsteady feet. Eleanor cast a knowing look at Rhett over Ella's crinkled ginger curls, understanding but with a hard twinge in the corner of her eyes that also cut a subtle warning. Eleanor had too many years of practice at sheltering distraught younger siblings while parental rage had broken over a defiant black head.

Ella's eyes skewed wildly between her brother and her stepfather, but she clutched Eleanor's hand and let herself be led from the room.

Wade shoved his chair back from the table, but if he had intended to storm out of the room the blackness in Rhett's face stopped him short. He crossed his arms over his skinny chest and glared at his stepfather with a force that appeared almost alien in the usually soft brown eyes Rhett had never seen as anything other than placid.

"You are out of line, Wade, to talk about your mother like that."

"What do you care," Wade muttered.

"She deserves your respect, Wade. Even when she isn't here. She has worked hard - as hard as any man, and harder than most - your entire life to protect you, to provide for you."

"Aunt Melanie took care of us."

Rhett sighed heavily. This wasn't his place - wasn't any sort of discussion he wished to be having. Wade's question was too perceptive. What did he care?

"Your Aunt Melanie was a very special woman, son, and I know you spent a lot of time in her care. I know she - she was not like Scarlett. No two women could have ever been more different than your mother and Aunt Melly, but they both loved you. Your mother loves you. She doesn't show it like Aunt Melly, but that does not mean she loves you any less. Wade, I don't think you realize, you might not be alive if it was not for all the hard work your Mother put in during the war, the risks she took to get you - and your Aunt, and Beau - out of Atlanta."

"I don't care," Wade said, with pubescent irrational stubbornness. "I want to stay with you."

"And I am going to Atlanta, and to Tara."

"But you're not _staying_ ," Wade disdained. "I want to go with you."

Was he staying? Would he ever? Could—

"You belong wi—"

"No!" Wade yelled. "I hate her, I don't belong there, everyone hates me and talks about her and - and - and you," he confessed. "I know you left us. Raoul said it. He said I should be ready for a new stepfather because you're going to divorce her."

"I am not going to divorce your mother," Rhett promised, surprised that it came with the smooth confidence of truth.

No, whatever else he might or might not feel, he knew at least he couldn't go through with that. This neither here nor there arrangement, back and forth under the pretense of keeping down the gossip, was not a solution, but neither would be divorce. He had to stay away or stop running, but he had tried both before and failed. He wasn't sure which cliff to pick the second time around, but he knew he wouldn't walk away again if nothing - no one - was there to break the fall.

"The other boys—" Wade hesitated.

"Ah," Rhett said. The other boys were always the worst, your peers more capable than anyone else at cutting into fragile pride. "It takes a lot of courage not to listen to what the other boys say; or to listen carefully and make your own decisions, especially if they are contrary to what your friends are doing." Some of the anger had faded from Wade's face, loosening the clench of his jaw and the tightness around his eyes. He hung on Rhett's every word. "I have always known you to be a very brave boy, son. I was there, when you were barely more than a baby, the night we all fled Atlanta." Well, the boy had been pitiably terrified, but he had survived. In a way, that took bravery enough.

"They talk about Mother."

"And do you believe them?"

"I - yes - I don't know."

"You know your mother much better than anyone else, who hasn't lived with her for twelve years."

"But you're gone," Wade said. Rhett understood. If some things were true, things Wade didn't understand, how could he tell the difference?

Rhett's head felt heavy and leaden, and he fought the urge to drop it into his hands and give up. He must hold out until Wade was appeased.

"Wade, there are - things - between your mother and me that you cannot understand. I am taking you home to Tara. I cannot promise to stay, but I will come back."

Wade's face crumpled and he flushed with embarrassment as he began to cry. Rhett stood and went to his stepson, pulled the boy gently from his chair and into his arms. Wade sobbed into his chest.

"I want to stay with you," Wade said jerkily, fighting his tears. Rhett let him cry until his tears had dried up. He put his hands on Wade's shoulders firmly and, bending, looked him in the eye.

"Your place is with your mother, Wade. She loves you very much. I want you to think about that when the other boys, or anyone else, talks about her. I want you to make your own decisions."

Wade wiped his leaking nose with his fist. Rhett smiled with reminiscent mockery as he let go of Wade's shoulder with one hand to offer him a handkerchief. "What about you, sir?" Wade sniffed.

"Blow your nose," Rhett said, and Wade complied. "You can write me any time. Send a telegram; if your mother takes on over the cost," he chuckled, "tell her I'm good for it."

"I -" Wade began, not yet willing to give up, as stubborn as his mother. But Rhett's face was set, and Wade sighed. "Thank you," he mumbled.

"I'm think it's time for bed now," Rhett said gently.

"Yes, sir."

Rhett leaned against the railing at the foot of the stairs, one arm wrapped casually around the newel post, watching Wade trudge upstairs to bed. Once the boy was out of sight down the hall, he turned to go back to the dining room for a nightcap - or seven - but the quiet noise of a throat being cleared arrested his motion and drew his reluctant attention to the parlor.

Eleanor Butler stood in the warm glow of lamplight just inside the threshold. She raised one elegant silver brow in a gesture that somehow communicated amusement, command, and judgement all at the same time. Rhett grit his teeth and moved in her direction instead, and followed her graceful gesture to one of the dainty chairs that he had sent her last Christmas.

Rhett stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle. He forced himself not to fidget, not to feel like he was a boy again preparing for his mother's gentle chastisement that had always been far more effective than his father's overbearing brute force. He gave his mother a level glance, but he was no longer a boy; he had more than enough patience to hold his tongue until she made the opening move.

"Wade is unhappy," Eleanor said, driving right to the heart without pleasantries.

Rhett sighed and planted his feet flat on the floor, leaning forward to bracket his forearms against his thighs. "I can see that."

"Hmm," Eleanor murmured. "Did you, before tonight?"

Rhett scowled down at his hands. "He wanted to come with when I - left Atlanta in April. I thought he was restless because Beau Wilkes was moving away. His cousin," Rhett explained. "Melanie's son."

"Hmm," Eleanor hummed again. Rhett raised his head to smirk at her.

"Are you composing a song, Mother?" It was Eleanor's turn to scowl. Rhett smiled openly in return.

"Rhett. I've held my tongue because I did not want to meddle in your life. You're a grown man, and I haven't had a say in your affairs for almost thirty years." Rhett sat back in the chair, his brows lowering. "You've spent more time here than at home this year - no, Rhett, this is not your home," Eleanor said with more snap to her voice as he sat up, mouth open, ready to interject. "You aren't happy, either, darling. You are at loose ends. You claim Wade as a son - well, your son needs you at home. And, I dare say, your wife might appreciate you there as well."

Rhett stood and paced to the tall front windows. "You do not know what you are talking about, Mother."

"No, I do not, you are quite right. I do not know, because you have never shared that part of your life with me. I have met your wife exactly once, when you both were so overthrown by grief it hurt to look at you. But I know you _have_ a wife, and two children - stepchildren you have always claimed as your own. Rhett, I don't care what has happened, but you belong with your family. Darling," Eleanor said more softly, coming to lay a hand on Rhett's arm, "your father cast you out of this family. You had no say in the matter. Why would you throw away your own family?"

"I left Scarlett."

The room was silent for a long moment in the wake of Rhett's gravely voiced confession.

"Rhett?" Eleanor's quiet question barely broke the stillness.

"I left Scarlett last September. She would not - will not - agree to a divorce. I told her I would come back to Atlanta often enough to keep the gossip down."

Eleanor removed her hand from her son's arm.

"It is - complicated. Our lives - our life together. Scarlett…" Rhett sighed heavily.

"Are you happier?"

"Mother—"

"I see an unhappy man, Rhett. Did leaving Scarlett make you happier?"

"So much has happened. Melanie's death - Bonnie…"

"What comfort is there in the world for your daughter's death, if you can not find any in the arms of your own wife - her mother?"

Rhett turned his head from the window to face her. He moved with slow restraint, but the savagery in his eyes sent a chill down Eleanor's spine. She took an involuntary step backwards.

"Scarlett has no comfort. After Bonnie's death, she blamed me. She told me I killed my little girl. She is cruel, callous - self-centered - she -" Rhett stopped abruptly, and his expression cooled. His eyes became hooded. "I'm sorry, Mother."

"Rhett, I don't know your wife, but I know you. Are you happier?"

Rhett turned back to the window. After a minute with no answer, Eleanor crossed the room to leave. At the door to the hall, she paused and looked back at his stark silhouette.

"Rhett, you are always welcome in my home. You are my son. Your father's actions could not change that, nothing will change that. I look only to your own happiness, darling."

Rhett's head jerked in a nod, and Eleanor turned away.

When his mother's footsteps had faded, he went back to the dining room and helped himself to a generous pour of the brandy on her sideboard. He would have preferred whisky; his flask was upstairs. Rhett stood at the foot of the long table and sipped the sweet, fiery liquor.

The servants had cleared the table and extinguished the lamp. In the dark, he let his mind relax, let the ghosts surface. The grace of Melanie was a whisper against his soul. He saw his father, tight-lipped and red-eyed, always disappointed in him. Bonnie - his dearest, his daughter, the light that had gone out of the world. And in his mind's eye, frightening for the strength of the apparition, he saw Scarlett seated at the head of the table. Her stubborn chin was lifted as regally as a queen's. He tried to force disdain into the eyes of his vision, to curl her lip with loathing. He tried and failed to control his own subconscious. He saw instead her cheeks flushed pink, her mouth parted, her eyes soft and limpid - saw her as she had been when they were at their own dining room table in the middle of the night, on the anniversary of their daughter's death. He closed his eyes to banish the ghosts, but was overpowered by memory, the sensation so strong he could feel her warm palm against his cheek. He turned his head into the empty air.

Rhett opened his eyes and set the unfinished brandy glass down. Tomorrow he would bring her children home.

* * *

 _Not a lot to say about this update, except that I love Will Benteen and I think my characterizations of both him and Suellen are colored by the_ Scarlett _miniseries. I enjoy some of the dialog enough that I still turn on the first 1-2 episodes every so often. "Does the name Lincoln ring a bell with you?" (I also enjoy the miniseries' Henry Hamilton). Not a big fan of_ Scarlett _overall although I have heard the audiobook is more tolerable - I got the cassette tapes off eBay and a USB tape player that lets you rip to MP3 so I will find out for myself in a day or so when I'm done uploading that!_


	14. Chapter 14

_Tara Plantation, Georgia, July, 1874_

Scarlett went out one morning along the old wagon trace from the former McIntosh place to the Jonesboro road. Perched on a docile mare, she remembered riding the path with Gerald in her youth. Back then, the faint depressions in the brush had been open ruts, worn down to dirt by frequent passage, the wagon tracks clearly visible. But a more recent memory warred with the warmth of that reminiscence, for the last time she had traveled this road she had been clinging to a rickety wagon, holding the reins of a dying horse.

The last time, after Rhett had left them outside of Rough and Ready.

She had absolved him of that in September, her newly realized love lending itself easily to faith in everything he had ever done, and she had been all too eager to believe in his confidence in her, his own faith. His own love, only to find it had expired. Only to have him leave her yet again. How many times now?

Scarlett shook her shoulders, banishing both memories. Today, in this moment, there would be only the weedy overgrown trace, the July sun that beat harshly on her shoulders and was deflected from her face by the wide brim of her straw hat, the gentle roll of the horse's muscles as the mare picked a careful path along the old road.

Today, Rhett and her children would come home.

Scarlett would not think about that yet. She concentrated on the lazy rhythm of the horse, and focused almost meditatively on the single drop of sweat slowly easing its way between her breasts. The scenery was both familiar and strange. Saplings had grown, old trees had fallen. Green fields formerly starred with white cotton lay fallow. She learned new landmarks and discarded the memory of old.

If the train from Charleston was not delayed - if they transferred to the first train to Jonesboro—

The sun was still low over the pine trees and - if she judged the distance correctly, if the landmarks hadn't changed too much - she was not even halfway to Rough and Ready when she turned her horse back towards Tara. With a half-formed thought, she knew she did not want Rhett to meet Suellen without her.

Scarlett remembered "not yet," _yet_ , and a sweetly shared kiss, nurtured those memories over others less hopeful. Was lost in those memories, the accompanying blush hidden on cheeks already red from the heat, when she emerged from the brush to see a swaying wagon coming up the main road. She recognized Will's silhouette under the hot morning sun. There was another man beside him on the wagon board, his Panama hat shadowing his face.

 _I'm not ready,_ Scarlett thought, but resisted the wild urge to turn and ride for Tara. She reined in the mare and waited as the wagon rolled closer, each thud of the horse's hooves on the dirt road echoed by her heart pounding in her chest.

As they drew abreast, Will tipped his hat to her, cordially. Rhett did not move, but she saw white teeth bared against his shadowed face.

"Scarlett, didn't 'spect to see you out here this morning."

"Mother!" cried Ella, popping up from the wagon bed, her bonnet trailing down her back.

"I just went out to ride the old wagon path," she told Will. "Ella, sit down! You'll fall out -"

"Good morning, Mrs. Butler," Rhett interrupted smoothly. Impossibly, she felt her cheeks grow even hotter.

"We should get to the house," Scarlett snapped. "The children need to get settled."

Rhett threw back his head and laughed as Will snapped the reins. She would never understand him!

In the front yard, Rhett swung Wade and Ella down from their perch in the back of the wagon with the luggage. Pork was there already, taking suitcases in hand and disappearing through Tara's front door. Wade was stiff but accepted his mother's hug without complaint. Ella threw scrawny arms around Scarlett's neck and peppered her face with kisses.

"Oh, Mother!" she cried. "I went to the zoo and Uncle Rhett bought us ice cream and took us shopping and I met Grandmother and Aunt Rosemary and I have a new cousin and we saw the ocean and -"

"God's nightgown, Ella! One thing at a time, I can't follow a word you're saying," Scarlett interrupted, but without irritation. Oh, she _had_ missed Ella, missed Wade, missed her children and her family. Whatever else they were - angry or timid, shy or flighty - they were hers. They belonged in her life, had rarely been out of it since they were born. Oh, there had always been others to take care of them, Melanie to coddle them and keep them out of her hair. But this complete absence had been something new, and enfolding Ella in her arms after the weeks apart felt like - like, she thought, looking around her at Tara's front hall, like hanging a painting back in place over a faded spot on the wall. Putting something back where it belonged.

She turned Ella loose and the girl ran to hug Mammy. Wade had already disappeared. Scarlett straightened up slowly and lifted her head to look her husband in the eye.

"So this is Tara," he mused, without mockery.

"I - I could show you around?"

"I am at your mercy, Mrs. Butler."

Scarlett flushed, the color now noticeable on cheeks that had paled in the cooler air inside the house. She turned briskly on her heel and swept into the dining room without checking to see if Rhett followed.

She gave him a hurried tour, from the dining room into the kitchen, out the kitchen door into the yard. They circled the house and reentered through the front door, and she led him into the parlor. Giving him enough time for another cursory glance, Scarlett moved past Rhett to leave the room when his arm snaked out and caught at her elbow.

"Who is that?" he asked, cocking his head.

"Who? Oh. That's - that is my Grandmother Robillard."

Rhett gave her a wolfish grin. "A fine lady."

Scarlett narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't insult m—"

"I'm not insulting your family, my pet. I am merely - admiring your ancestors."

"Oh," Scarlett repeated, dumbly.

Rhett's hand was hot on her elbow. She looked from the portrait of Solange Robillard, then back to her husband, and took a step nearer to him.

"I missed you, Rhett," she said quietly, boldly.

Rhett squeezed her elbow. She waited.

"Shall we continue the tour?" Rhett asked, raising his eyebrows at her. Scarlett swallowed her disappointment as he let go of her arm. She lifted her skirts, readying herself to take the stairs, then stopped abruptly.

Upstairs. The bedrooms. _Her_ bedroom. And - Rhett? Was he staying?

"Scarlett?" Rhett murmured into her ear, and she flinched, surprised to find him so close.

"Y-yes?" She asked, frustrated by her own breathless voice.

"The grand tour?"

But what to tell him, upstairs? Scarlett moved towards the door of the parlor, her mind working furiously. She stopped again.

"Oh, well, there's just upstairs, Rhett. Just the family bedrooms, it's not very interesting at all. Maybe - you could ride out with Will—"

"I have always found your bedroom exceedingly interesting, Scarlett."

Scarlett didn't know what he was playing at, but anger flared in her breast. Of course! Her bedroom. He wasn't interested in anything else.

She looked coldly at Rhett and lifted her chin. "I have work to do, Rhett. I'll see you at dinner in a few hours." Scarlett stopped with a hand on the door frame, and looked over her shoulder at Rhett, standing with his hands in his pockets and looking at her with a slight quirk to his full lips. "Did you eat before you left Atlanta? I'm sure Cookie could get you something from the kitchen if you're hungry before then. You remember where it is?"

Rhett's teeth gleamed beneath his mustache as his smile widened. "Scarlett," he said, with that old, mocking edge as he took a step closer to her. Scarlett panicked.

"I'll see you at dinner, Rhett," she clipped before retreating away to shut herself in the office she still thought of as Ellen's. She could hear Rhett's booming laughter even after she shut the door.

That night, after supper, Scarlett was relieved when Rhett offered to share cigars with Will. The two men went out on the porch, granting her another reprieve. It was too late to retreat to the study as she had again after dinner; at this hour, he would know she was hiding from him.

Ella had a low trundle bed in the nursery room shared by the three Benteen girls. Wade had his own room, but the door was shut tight and Scarlett did not push it open. The nursery was still bright and chaotic, busy with dolls and hair ribbons and the day's discarded dresses hanging off bedposts and puddled on the floor. Scarlett fought the sudden urge to rub her temples as she picked her way carefully to her daughter's side.

Ella was sitting cross-legged on the bright quilt, her ribbons undone and her red hair in a wild cloud about her head. She beamed up at her mother, who stopped short, suddenly unsure of herself, feeling her poor aptitude for mothering further diminished by the separation. Scarlett cast her eyes about the room, but her nieces were chattering amongst themselves, heads bent over something on one of their beds. She spied a silver-backed hairbrush on the edge of the nearest bed and frowned. That was definitely Ella's brush - Ella's _old_ brush, for she'd had to buy a new one last fall when Ella had "lost" it. Misplaced or forgotten it at Tara, clearly. Ella just couldn't keep track of anything—

Scarlett grabbed the brush and turned back to Ella, but the scold died in her throat. She didn't want to ruin their first day back together.

"Would you like to me to brush your hair, Ella?" Ella jerked her head in an energetic nod.

The trundle bed was close to the ground, and Scarlett lowered herself to it awkwardly. She dropped, uncontrolled, the last foot to the feather tick, having misjudged the distance. Her bustle was trapped awkwardly underneath her and she twisted and shifted to settle comfortably and arrange her skirts demurely over her legs. Finally settled, she huffed out an annoyed breath that wafted away a strand of hair that had come undone and fallen across her cheek. Looking up, she saw Ella's hands clapped over her mouth as the little girl struggled not to laugh. Scarlett opened her mouth, closed it, forced a smile instead.

"Scoot up, Ella, so I can reach you." Ella wiggled back until she was sitting against her mother's thighs. Eyeing her daughter's frizz, Scarlett wrinkled her nose. This hair was impossible! She had always wished for curls herself, but Ella's hair took it to the extreme. She carefully separated a small section and held it close to the bottom as she started to tug the brush through the ends.

It was a snarled mess that took forever to loosen enough for the brush to pass easily. Scarlett frowned.

"Ella, did you brush your hair at all while you were with Rhett?"

Ella, who had been humming and plucking at the hem of her nightgown, shrugged. "Uncle Rhett helped me sometime."

"Rhett helped you?" The hairbrush snagged briefly.

"Oh, yes, Mother! Uncle Rhett brushed my hair and did my braids, too. For bed."

Scarlett laughed softly, picturing Rhett struggling with Ella's hair as she was. Looking down on the top of Ella's head, she pictured Rhett's large hands gently separating the red locks and dwarfing the small child's hairbrush. Her laughter caught in her throat.

"Did - did you have a very good time with Uncle Rhett?" Ella started to nod, but stopped stopped short when her hair tugged against Scarlett's grip.

"We ate dinner on a train! And he bought us ice cream and I got new books, as many as I could carry but I dropped them all and Uncle Rhett bought them anyway. And we went to the ocean, Mother, have you ever seen the ocean? I never did before, it was so big! It was bigger than cotton fields. I can walk across Tara but Uncle Rhett said we couldn't walk across the ocean - I mean swim, we couldn't swim it! I don't know how to swim, Mother, but Uncle Rhett said he would teach me, he said that we could swim in the river? Uncle Rhett said it would take days to cross the ocean, it's so big..."

Scarlett struggled to pull the brush through Ella's hair as the little girl chattered, humming false acknowledgements from time to time as Ella continued to ramble. Gradually, the tightly knotted spirals softened into a diffuse cloud that haloed Ella's head in shining red. Scarlett snagged a ribbon that was curling around a nearby bedpost and expertly plaited the soft hair into a braid, then secured the end with the ribbon. Ella sighed and leaned back against her mother. Scarlett awkwardly rested a hand on her daughter's narrow shoulder.

"Will you swim with us, Mother?"

"Don't be silly, Ella, I can't—"

"But Uncle Rhett can teach you!"

Scarlett scoffed. "I know how to swim Ella, but it isn't something that grown-up ladies do—"

"Then it shouldn't be a problem for you," a familiar deep voice called from across the room. Scarlett stiffened and looked up to see Rhett lounging in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame.

"It's time for bed," she snapped, standing abruptly. If Ella thought to protest, one look at her mother's face now set in hard lines dissuaded her. Obediently, she crawled under the quilt of the small bed. Scarlett bent uncomfortably low to kiss Ella's forehead and said, more gently, "Good night, precious."

"Good night, Mother."

Rhett was still blocking the doorway, moving aside barely enough for Scarlett to sweep past him. Her mouth went dry as her skirts caught against his trousers. She hurried down the hall to her room - their room? Oh good Lord why had she asked Rhett to bring the children to Tara! Why hadn't she met them in Atlanta? She risked a look behind her, but Rhett was not following her down the hall. She could hear the low rumble of his voice; he must have ducked into the nursery. A reprieve.

At the head of the stairs, Scarlett stopped and snapped out Prissy's name. The servant ambled out from the back of the downstairs hall.

"Get up here and help me."

"Yas'm," Prissy answered, her steps on the stairs as slow as her drawl.

"Hurry up! It'll be morning before I can get to bed at that pace."

"Yas'm," Prissy said again, barely quickening her movements, long since desensitized to her mistress' bluff and brash.

Scarlett didn't wait for the maid's slow arrival but turned and swept into her bedroom, already plucking at the buttons of her bodice. She was unbutton and untied, bodice and skirt thrown over the bed, before Prissy snuck in. Scarlett's foot tapped impatiently as Prissy lethargically unlaced her stays.

"I could have done that faster myself," Scarlett fumed after the laces were finally loose enough for her to unhook the busk and peel the corset back into Prissy's waiting hands. "Put that away, and the dress, then you can go. I won't bother to ask for any more help tonight, or I'll be up until dawn waiting for you to finish."

Prissy hung Scarlett's clothes in the closet with unsurprising alacrity, clearly motivated by the end of her duties to discharge them with more than her usual speed. She drawled a goodnight which Scarlett ignored, sitting at the vanity and pulling pins from her hair with sharp movements. She slapped each pin down on the scarred table. The click of the door startled her and she whipped her half-coiffed head around; but it was only the door closing behind Prissy.

"Stop being such a goose," she muttered to herself, and shrugged into a wrapper. It was just Rhett; it was _Rhett_. A painful new thought occurred to her, what if Rhett thought she had planned this from the beginning? Asked him to come to Tara to trap him in her bedroom in order to preserve the illusion of their marriage? Scarlett slapped another pin down on the table. It was his fault! He'd sprung this on her, asking to take Wade and Ella to Philadelphia without any warning, leaving her no time at all to think things through. She should have stayed in Atlanta until after he brought the children home. Damn him!

Scarlett jerked her hairbrush roughly through her own hair, slipped out of her chemise and threw it in a crumpled ball into the corner of the room. Her summer nightdress was made of a fine lawn that was almost sheer but still buttoned demurely up to her collarbones. Dressed for bed, she stood frozen in the center of the bedroom with her wrapper clutched in sharp fists. Should she put the robe back on and wait up, should she crawl into bed and extinguish the lights and ignore him - if he came to bed at all? His valise lay on the bench at the foot of the bed, but he might not come for it. She had never known Rhett to sleep in a nightshirt, he might not need anything from his luggage. He might have changed his habits in the last five long years - or was it six now?

"Scarlett Butler, you're a fool," she whispered, hanging the wrapper up on a hook. She crawled into bed, and despite the heat drew the quilt up over her shoulders. One hand snaked out to douse the lamp,but the room was still well-lit by the moon. She lay on her side facing the door, forcing her breath to the slow rhythms of sleep though it did nothing to calm her racing heart.

The doorknob turned. She squeezed her eyes shut. Quiet. The catch of the bolt as the door shut again. She strained her ears. Rhett moved like a hunter, his footfalls somehow silent even in shoes, and her ears strained to separate anything out from the night sounds that crept in through the window. A loud thud broke her concentration and she gasped, her eyes flying open with reflexive surprise.

Rhett dropped a shoe, another thud. "Ah, my dear. Did I wake you? I am terribly sorry. Please, do not let me disturb your slumber."

Scarlett swallowed, narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth for a scathing rebuke, closed it again without speaking.

Rhett had shrugged out of jacket and waistcoat already, undone his cravat. His hands went to the buttons of his shirt. Scarlett squeezed her eyes shut again.

"Such intimate arrangements, my pet," Rhett continued. "Are there not enough bedrooms at Tara? Should I count my blessings to be allowed in the house, and not removed to a bare cot back in the old quarters? I am surprised; pleasantly so, but I am afraid I have forgotten my bedroom manners."

Scarlett clenched her jaw against rising irritation.

"You will have to instruct me in the appropriate behavior, lest I unwittingly offend. I am sure Mr. Wilkes provided a thorough instruction on how to uphold the chastity of the bedr—"

It was too much! "You cad!" Scarlett cried, scrambling to sit upright. Rhett had finished undressing and was clad only in old drawers which clung to his hips. Her throat went dry; belatedly, she clutched the quilt up to her chest. "How dare you—"

"I am sorry, my pet. Did I offend?" Rhett asked with mock innocence as he came around to the far side of the bed. Away from the window, the lines of his face were shadowed and unclear.

"I couldn't - it wouldn't - Suellen would expect us to share a b- a room."

"Naturally," Rhett said smoothly.

"Don't be coarse."

To her surprise, Rhett sighed. He pulled the covers back and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, Scarlett."

The sincerity in his voice stirred a memory, an understanding glimpsed in September and nearly forgotten during his absence in the intervening months. Was Rhett as uncomfortable as she was? Was that the reason behind his cruel jokes?

"I won't bother you," she murmured, dropping her eyes to the quilt.

Rhett chuckled, a brief bark of noise that hurt her ears. "You can't help it."

"You don't have to stay," she muttered. "Thank you for bringing the children. If you want to leave...in the morning, Will can drive you to the station in Jonesboro."

"Tired of me already?"

Scarlett glared and hoped he could see it in the dark room. "Only when you're a cad."

"I should at least stay until I have fulfilled my promise to Ella."

"Promise?"

"To teach her to swim. I thought a country river would be easier to handle than the ocean."

"Oh. Of course." _Swimming lessons!_ she wanted to cry. _That's the promise that matters to you?_

"And I think Wade would appreciate it if I stayed, for a few days at least," he added lightly.

"Oh, yes."

"Scarlett," Rhett said slowly, "has everything been - all right - with Wade?"

 _Has everything been_ all right _with Wade_? How on earth to answer that! _Oh, everything's just fine, I don't mind at all that he hates me, wishes I had died instead of Melanie, and tried to run away to you!_ "Yes," she said shortly. "Rhett, I'm quite tired. If you don't mind..."

Rhett was quiet for a moment. It was hard to tell with the poor light, but he seemed to be staring at her. The thought made her flush, and she lifted her chin in silent defiance of - whatever he was up to. Finally, he spoke, his voice smooth and uninflected. "I beg your pardon. Good night, my dear."

Gingerly, as if afraid to make even a ripple that could cross the mattress to Rhett, Scarlett lay down with her back to him. She hugged the lip of the mattress, her body stretched out along its precarious edge. She clutched the edge with a fist, determined to anchor herself to her side. She would not roll, she would not shift, she would not seek him out in the middle of the night. The bed dipped as Rhett stretched out, and she tightened her grip until her knuckles were stark white in the moonlight.

"Good night, Scarlett," Rhett said again, his whisper so close to her that the volume made her flinch.

"Good night," she managed to bite out, not trusting her vocal cords not to quaver.

Scarlett lay awake for a long time, watching the slice of moonlight shift across the rag rugs, until the heaviness of her eyelids resisted every effort to keep them open.

…

Scarlett's eyes snapped open, the fog of sleep gone instantly. Had something disturbed her? Had there been a noise? She came awake completely, suddenly. Sunlight filled the worn bedroom. Her left hand hurt. Her hand—?

Rhett.

Slowly, so slowly, she turned her head to the left. Rhett's large body filled the bed; as awareness crept over her, she felt the heat radiating from him, saw the tiny movements of the quilt as his chest rose and fell, heard the hum of his breathing under the noise of the birds.

Scarlett mouthed a silent prayer of thanksgiving that she had slept through the night, had suffered no nightmares to draw Rhett from sleep and arouse his damnable pity. Rhett still slept soundly, undisturbed. With her neck twisted round, she devoured him with her eyes, afraid to move. He looked tan, healthy; even more, he looked peaceful. She had seen him, over the months since September, but she had not been able to study him like this. That dissipated profile was coin-clean again, sharp with strong bones finely carved under his swarthy skin. His chest was thick and broad, and his abdomen and waist were taut and trim. The skin under his eyes was smooth, no longer purple. Except for the grey streaks rooted at his temples, he looked revived, young again; as young and handsome as that first time she had recognized just how very handsome he was, on their honeymoon in New Orleans. Her chest ached, an ache of longing that seemed to spread from her heart to her fingertips, which curled back into her fists in denial of the urge to reach out and touch him.

They had not woken up in a bed together in even longer than they had last slept in one. They hadn't—

Scarlett rolled away, turning her back to him and not caring if the movement did wake him. At least if it did, he would see her back, which could not give her away as her face could. Rhett did not move or speak; she assumed he slept still. She tried to turn her mind to the next problem; the old problem. How on earth to make him love her again? He was here, at Tara. He planned to stay, though maybe only a few days, though he only mentioned Wade and Ella as the reasons. He was sleeping in her room, and in her bed. That didn't do her any good; she would not throw herself at him. And hadn't he already shown, every time he came home, that he had no problem kissing and leaving? She needed more.

She thought of the things he said in September, the hints and insight she had pulled out to examine so often since then, worn them smooth in her mind like stones from the river. Families and roots that go deep; respectability; dignity and grace - couldn't she show him all those things at Tara? Didn't life here have charm, that slow charm, in abundance? They could ride together, sit on the porch in the noisy country twilight; why, didn't he already plan to teach her daughter to swim in the river?

She would join them, Scarlett decided abruptly. Rhett didn't know the land, the river; he would need her to show them where to go, the bend in the river where the water was shallow and placid. She would pack a picnic, pour lemonade and sweet tea and sit under a parasol on the bank, express ladylike admiration for his prowess and motherly indulgence as Ella splashed, encourage Wade to be bold and jump from that low tree branch, if it was still there hanging out over the water. Scarlett closed her eyes and smiled as the vision took shape.

"What are you plotting, Scarlett?"

Her eyes flew open and she gasped at Rhett's face bent inches above her own. "God's nightgown, Rhett!"

"You look entirely too devious this early in the morning, my dear."

"I'm not plotting anything, and you are entirely too - too close 'this early in the morning'," she mimicked snappishly. She thought something flickered in his eyes as he retreated, a bright flash that was more than a reflection of the sunlight.

Rhett rolled out of the bed and Scarlett flushed anew at the sight of him, bare from the waist up, barely clothed from the waist down. One corner of his mouth quirked down, smirking at her. She huffed and turned her head to the window. They were both quiet, but she could hear the rustle of clothing from the foot of the bed. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Should I send Prissy up for you?"

Rhett's question made her open her eyes. He was standing with one hand on the doorknob, facing the door with bent head, not looking at her.

"Yes - thank you, Rhett," she said softly.

Once the door had shut behind him, Scarlett flew out of the bed and over to her closet. The small wardrobe was stuffed with dresses, new and old, hanging from wooden pegs. Something light - something green, of course; it had always been her best color - something he had picked out, for he never had liked her own taste. She wrinkled her nose as she discarded newer things, selected by her own hand since his departure. How mean Rhett could be at times! This one with the rose- and bow -trimmed bustle was too darling, but not worth the risk; not yet.

In a corner of the closet she found an old day dress she hadn't seen in years. She must have left it behind when—. It was not green, but creamy organdy patterned with green leaves. The fine, stiff fabric rustled prettily when she moved, the short sleeves showed off her slender arms - oh, the darling sleeves! So few of her clothes had had short sleeves since before the war, before marriage and widowhood and loss.

Best of all, the wide, low neckline displayed the slope of her shoulders and bosom. The dress was still as charming and fashionable as when it had been made for her three years before.

Scarlett tapped her foot impatiently as Prissy laced her and helped her into the dress. She fiddled with the bottles and pots on the vanity, humming distractedly, as Prissy twisted and pinned her hair up, then dismissed the maid with a smile that left Prissy wondering if she should tell Mammy that her mistress might be ill. Miss Scarlett was never so sunny and nice. Prissy shrugged and took herself downstairs to hide in the kitchen, and hopefully avoid any more work until the evening.

After Prissy left, Scarlett examined herself closely in the mirror. She had been sleeping better, despite the nerve-wracking departure of Wade and Ella. She had slept especially soundly the night before, and her cheeks were naturally pink for what felt like the first time in months. Still, she pinched the skin over her cheekbones, bringing up a sharper red tone - but still natural, no rouge, nothing for Rhett to criticize. Nothing to deviate from the portrait of ladylike charm and elegance she would present today. Scarlett started humming again as she went downstairs, a small smile playing about her lips as she adjusted her tune to fit the rhythm of her rustling skirts.

Even Suellen's sour face could not dampen Scarlett's spirit, now that she had a plan and a pretty dress. Her sister tried to conceal a scowl as Scarlett entered the dining room, with the unfortunate result of looking as if she had just taken a large bite of a lemon. Scarlett never liked to see her sister at the foot of the table, the place she thought of as her own because she had always thought of Tara as hers, but today she fired back at Suellen with the sweetest smile in her arsenal.

Tara's dining room was full, crowded with more people than the plantation house had hosted in years. Scarlett's nieces were arranged on either side of their mother, with Ella completing the square. Scarlett took the empty seat next to her daughter and turned the undiluted beam of her smile on her husband across the table. Her glow didn't even falter when Rhett merely cocked an eyebrow at her, but her smile trembled and eventually faded under the strength of Wade's stony demeanor. She snapped her napkin open and automatically turned to scold Ella under her breath.

"Napkin, darling," she reminded her daughter. Ella's hand froze with a dripping biscuit halfway to her mouth and a plop of jam landed squarely on her uncovered lap. Ella hastily set the biscuit back down and turned to her mother with wide eyes that expected a scolding, only to widen comically farther in surprise as Scarlett merely clucked and tapped her daughter's nose with a fingertip.

"We'll have to find you another dress after breakfast, then."

Ella gulped. "Yes, Mother," and spread her napkin over the sticky spot.

Scarlett helped herself to the generous display of breakfast, her heart - and stomach - squeezing a little as they always did at the sight of such a plentiful spread on the table that had once been barren for far too long. She couldn't help but steal a glance at Rhett from under her lashes as she licked a drop of jam from her fingertip. He smirked at her and she blushed, then tossed her head proudly and smiled at him again. He was still her husband, she didn't need to be ashamed of looking at him, for heaven's sake! His eyes flashed in a way that made her think he might have burst out laughing, if they had been alone.

Scarlett opened her mouth to address him, then thought better of it. She would go at this through Ella. Rhett might say no to any plans she tried to make, but he wouldn't say no to something the children wanted. He was at least less likely to say no, she amended, allowing with reluctant wisdom that he was as unpredictable to her as ever.

"Were you going to try swimming today, Ella?" she asked brightly. She narrowed her eyes as Ella opened her biscuit-stuffed mouth to reply, and the girl snapped it shut again and quickly chewed and swallowed.

"Oh, yes, Mother!" Ella answered, then swiveled her head to her stepfather. "Please can we, Uncle Rhett? You said you would teach me!"

Rhett looked at Scarlett, not at Ella, as he replied, and Scarlett flushed. It seemed as if his eyes could see through all her stratagems - not just her shimmies. "I think today is a perfect day for swimming, Ella," Rhett drawled. "What did you have in mind, Scarlett?"

Scarlett lifted her chin, with her square, stubborn Irish jaw tightening under fair skin. "I just thought it sounded like a lovely opportunity for a picnic. Would you like that, darling?" she asked, directing herself to Ella again.

"Yes! A picnic!" Ella shimmied in excitement. Scarlett's smile widened in true pleasure.

It faded when she turned to Wade, but she stubbornly refused to let it slip entirely. "Would you like a picnic, Wade?"

Her son shrugged. Rhett's gaze was carefully blank as he turned to look at his stepson, then back to Scarlett. "Swimming lessons and a picnic sounds like a fine plan."

"But, Will—" Wade began. Will Benteen smiled at him.

"Wade, you can work with me tomorrow. I wouldn't turn down a picnic if I were you."

A noisy chorus of high-pitched voices broke over the table from the three Benteen girls. "But Mama, we want a picnic!"

Suellen scowled at Scarlett as they left the table after breakfast. "As usual, your harebrained whims are just making more work for the rest of us. I'm not here on vacation, Scarlett, and now I've got to pack a picnic for my girls just because you need an excuse to be alone with your own husband, for he won't spend time with you any other way. I must say, Scarlett, I was surprised not to find him on the parlor sofa this morning -"

Scarlett's hand itched to pull her sister's hair like she had when they were girls. She settled for a hissed retort under her breath, "You mind your own business, Sue, and I'll mind mine."

"You bring your business out here-"

"Oh fiddle-dee-dee!" Scarlett snapped. "I'm going to have a good time today, Sue, and you won't ruin it with your meanness. If you can't do the same I don't see how that's any of my problem." And, nose in the air, Scarlett stomped into the kitchen to oversee the preparation of the perfect picnic basket.

...

Before dinner time, their little party set out from the house with Scarlett leading the way. Her spring green parasol rested against one bare shoulder, and she held Ella's small hand with her own. Rhett and Wade trooped behind them. Rhett had set the heavy picnic basket on one shoulder, and carried a small rucksack with towels and dry clothes on his other shoulder. Wade had a large quilt folded across both arms.

They met the river between the hills that marked the end of Tara and the beginning of Twelve Oaks. Scarlett paused a moment as her eyes followed the crest of the hill to the dark knot of oak trees that topped it, above which in days past the white chimneys of Twelve Oaks had risen. Other than her momentary stillness, she gave no outward sign of the ache that squeezed her heart for those lost days of bliss, but turning, she saw Rhett's hard eyes watching her. When she spoke, she sounded frustratingly breathless, for her mouth had gone dry.

"The best place to swim is up the river to the left, away from the swamp bottom. It's where we went as children."

Rhett nodded, still watching her face.

"Well, come on, then," she said shortly, tugging Ella's hand to start her moving again. The little caravan continued.

The circle of oak crowns was hidden when they reached their destination on the lazy river. The banks were overhung with trees, and there was a wide, flat lawn on which to spread the picnic. Scarlett helped Wade lay the quilt, smiling and trying to catch his eye. He studied the patterns on the quilt. Rhett set the basket down along one edge and hovered over her, his lips brushing her hair as he whispered.

"Are you sure you won't swim with us?"

Scarlett shied away. "It's not proper."

"When has that ever held you back?"

Scarlett scowled at him and sat carefully on the ground. She folded her legs to the side and busied herself with the perfect arrangement of her skirts. Rhett's chuckled faded as he walked away.

The three of them stood on the river bank. Rhett bent over, instructing both children in a low, serious tone as they nodded in solemn acknowledgement. Ground rules established, Rhett and Wade stripped down to pants. Scarlett ducked her head and twirled her parasol as Rhett came up to the blanket to deposit his and Wade's garments. Ella had changed her pretty, but stained, morning dress for a simple old calico frock, at Scarlett's insistence. As a little girl, Scarlett had come here with the county boys and stripped down to her chemise to jump in with them, but that had never been sanctioned by her mother or Mammy. Rhett lowered himself into the river first, testing the water. He waded out to the middle and back to the bank. The water rose from below his armpits to just above his shoulders at its deepest part. She knew the bottom was slick with mud and plants, littered with branches, and her toes curled in her slippers with slimy memories. They used to dare each other to sink down to the disgusting bottom and stay there as long as could be endured. It was both a test of how long a person could hold their breath, and of their fortitude in tolerating the muck. Scarlett hated the feel of that river bottom, but she had almost always won the game.

After he had familiarized himself with the river, Rhett let Wade join him first. Ella danced along the bank as she struggled to wait her turn. Wade had little patience for his stepfather's assistance, and barely had he got the feel of the water than he let go of Rhett's thick arm. Once he was satisfied that Wade could paddle with his head above the water, Rhett turned to Ella. He lifted both his arms, the water sluicing off them. Scarlett wished she had brought a fan as well as a parasol. Ella clutched his hands and he carefully lowered her into the water. The little girl shrieked as the water rose from her ankles to her chest. She kicked her legs so vigorously that Rhett's hair was soaked before he had her feet safely submerged.

"Keep kicking," Scarlett heard him encourage. Slowly, with Ella's feet kicking up a noisy wake, Rhett walked her toward the center of the river. They moved in a slow figure eight as Wade paddled around them in a wide circle, carefully out of range of Ella's spray.

Ella grew more comfortable, letting go of Rhett's hands for seconds at a time. Soon, she could keep herself afloat long enough for Rhett to boost Wade out of the water, then take her hands again while Wade ran along the bank to the old tree limb that Scarlett remembered from her own childhood. Rhett tugged Ella and then let her float alone again while Wade jumped in, catching his stepson and pulling him back to the surface. Wade emerged, beaming, and shook his head. Ella squealed as the water caught her in the face. Rhett boosted Wade out and took Ella's hands again. Confident in Wade's ability, he let Wade resume jumping unaided, and alternated between drawing Ella back and forth across the river, and helping Wade climb back up to the bank.

Scarlett discarded her parasol and drew her knees up to her chest, watching the trio in the river. They all seemed so happy. How could Rhett leave her children behind? He had always been so good with them. Wade had worshipped him almost since infancy. If he would only stay - for the children, but stay long enough, she knew she could win him back.

A trickle of sweat formed between her shoulder blades and the sudden slide of moisture disturbed her out of growing melancholy. She looked up, her hand at the brim of her bonnet protecting her eyes as she found the sun high in the summer sky. It was getting late. Scarlett began unloading the picnic basket, piling the dinner plates in the center of the blanket. There were cold ham sandwiches and sliced cucumbers, pickled beets, fresh raspberries, cornbread and cake for dessert, and stoneware jugs of cold tea and lemonade.

Another wet trickle ran down her back and she wrinkled her nose in irritation. She was reaching for her parasol when suddenly she was showered with water. The sky was clear and blue, whatever was - she turned towards Rhett's booming laughter, drowning out the high pitched giggles of her children. They had crept out of the river and come around behind her. Wade shook his head and she realized what they had done, all three of them, lined up behind her and shaking the wet from their bodies like dogs.

"Name of God! Wade Hampton - Ella Lorena - RHETT!" Her voice rose to a shriek as Rhett also shook his head again.

"Maybe next time, you'll come swimming with us," Rhett murmured as he bent down to snatch up the rucksack. He rummaged in it for Ella's things and tossed them down to Scarlett, then slung the bag over one shoulder. "Come on, son, let's go get changed."

Scarlett was red-faced and fuming, and Ella's lower lip began to tremble. "I-I'm sorry, Mother, Uncle Rhett said..."

"Oh, damn your Uncle Rhett!"

Ella gasped. Scarlett drew her shoulders back. "Never mind, Ella. Let's get you into some dry clothes."

Scarlett struggled to regain her composure before Rhett and Wade returned. Leave it to Rhett to upend all her careful planning. The nerve of that man! No wonder Ella's hair had been such a disaster, he had probably let both her children run free like savages while he had them off on their own. He always had let Bonnie—

Scarlett spilled the lemonade she was pouring for Ella and set the jug down carefully. Not today. She took a breath, as deeply as her stays would permit, and willed her mind to settle. Just in time, for Rhett and Wade trooped back from the cluster of trees where they had gone to change. They were both dry now, and clad in trousers and shirts. Rhett scooped up Ella's damp dress and spread it, along with their wet trousers, on a sunny patch of lawn before joining them on the picnic blanket.

As usual, Ella could be trusted to carry the conversation, her cheerful chatter filling any momentary silence. Eventually, Wade and Rhett drifted away, their dark heads bent together as they examined tree trunks and plants and discussed the world in hushed voices. Ella ended up drowsing with her head in Scarlett's lap and her knee in the plate of cornbread. Scarlett sighed and pulled the plate away with a fingertip. She watched her husband and son as they moved from tree to tree, her stomach turning a dainty flip when Rhett lifted his arm to point something out, the bunch and shift of muscle along his back and shoulder evident through his thin shirt. She relaxed, letting her fingers play with Ella's damp curls, warmed from head to toe by the sun and the slow, lazy pace of the day. This - this was perfect, she thought. Could Rhett see it? Wasn't this what he was looking for?

Scarlett's eyes were slitted and lazy as she followed Rhett. Tension tickled her nerves, warming her from the inside even as the sun heated her skin. She was so lost in the moment, nearly entranced by his movements and the warmth of the day, that when he turned to her she smiled without thinking, an honest, open smile that spread desire lazily across her face. Their eyes locked and her toes curled into her shoes.

Wade tugged his stepfather's sleeve and Rhett turned away. Scarlett licked dry lips and slipped Ella's head off her lap. Quietly, she packed up the picnic, gathered the dry, sun-stiffened swimming clothes and folded them into the rucksack. Ella snorted in her sleep. Scarlett snugged the rucksack closed and stood up and Rhett was there. She hadn't heard him approach; he and Wade had never put on shoes and he was too adept at moving noiselessly. But when she straightened, he was so close behind her that her back nearly brushed his chest. The heat radiating from him was almost as strong as the sun. He closed his fingers around her hand and, lifting it, kissed her knuckles. Scarlett held her breath. Rhett did not release her hand. Staring straight ahead, her eyes found Wade again, crouched down among the trees and poking at something with a stick. Rhett was silent.

Barely lifting her feet, Scarlett took a quarter of a step back, enough to bring her back solidly against Rhett's front. His free hand came up to rest on the side of her waist. His thumb smoothed slow circles into her palm. Slowly, afraid she was misreading his mood, Scarlett shifted her weight until she was leaning against his chest. The hand on her waist tightened.

Tears blurred her eyes as she tried to stay focused on Wade. Her chest felt tight and hot, even as her bare shoulders shivered with a strange chill. They stood together watching her son's explorations for several minutes, until Rhett's body shifted behind her and he whispered in her ear, "Were all your plans and snares well set today, my pet?" His lips brushed her skin and it took a moment for his words to slip in under the bloom of desire that distracted her attention.

Then she tried to pull away, spluttering in indignation. "You are a cad, Rhett, I don't know what—"

"Hush, Scarlett," he breathed, holding her waist firmly to keep her close. "Smooth your fur. Let me tease you."

Scarlett longed to turn around and see his face. "You mock me."

"I want to make you laugh."

"Then you should be nicer," she said, the soft edges of the words giving away the pout that was pulling at her lips. Rhett chuckled.

"I should be a very nice gentleman?" he asked.

"Well - no," she admitted. "It wouldn't be the same you."

"So I was right."

"Right? About what?"

"You like varmints," he said in a very low voice, lifting her hand again and opening it to press his lips into her palm. A warm tide of desire spread from the palm of her hand to pool in the pit of her stomach; desire and the haze of a memory, hot still Atlanta in wartime, and the shadows of Aunt Pitty's porch and his lips on her hand and her wrist, moving languidly just as they were doing now. His cool, hard cheek against her hand and - and - she remembered what he said that night, the words that followed the talk of varmints and gentleman, and she tried to tug her hand free. That was the night he had insulted her by asking her to be his mistress. What did he mean, bringing that up? She remembered things she had learned since that night a decade ago, almost to the day; the confessions he had made in September; the other question he had asked, first, that night ten years before. _Could you ever love me?_ Cold shame doused desire as she remembered her own response with her premature gloating victory. And Rhett had retreated, turned the conversation to insult and rile her. The pattern set that day was all too clear to her now.

Rhett's fingers opened, letting her hand fall away, but she moved quickly to clutch at the thick base of his palm. He didn't resist as she pulled his hand up and pressed it against her bosom, his fingertips hot on her bare skin and the heel of his hand heavy on her breast. Her heart was thudding so heavily she was sure he must be able to feel it through her skin.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I believe I do like varmints."

Rhett's laughter echoed through the open space, waking Ella, drawing Wade's attention back to the family gathering. Rhett's hand squeezed her hip before he dropped his arms and swooped a yawning Ella overhead. He called to Wade, and the Butlers packed up their picnic.

* * *

 _For Scarlett's dress, Google "Robe d'après-midi, vers 1874, weekend wow". If you just search for the first bit, the right dress should turn up on Pinterest boards, etc, but the weekend wow part should find a blog post with multiple views._


	15. Chapter 15

_This chapter is really an extension of Chapter 14, but I separated it out because it is M rated for sexual content. It can be skipped without missing anything critical._

...

The rest of the day following the picnic passed in a blur. Scarlett felt energized, and out of sorts. She tried to lose herself in correspondence and figures from Atlanta, but her head was muzzy and she thrummed with so much nervous energy she could hardly sit still. She seemed to be moving very fast while the world around her slowed to a crawl, the hours until supper trickling by like a slow drip from a leaking faucet.

After supper, Will and Rhett again removed to the porch to sample Rhett's endless supply of cigars. Scarlett patted Ella on the head and absently wished her good night; she looked for Wade, but he had already disappeared from the dining room. She called Prissy from the kitchen and berated the girl up the stairs, keeping a steady stream of criticism going to which Prissy closed her ears while she helped her mistress dress for bed.

At last, Scarlett was alone in her room. She sat at the vanity and artfully draped the folds of her nightdress over her legs. She moved to the bench at the foot of the bed. Stood by the window, straight and tall; leaned against the frame and tilted her head, eyes on the brightening moon. Nothing seemed right. And where was Rhett, anyway? Had she misjudged him - again? She abandoned pretty poses and began to pace, chewing worriedly on her lower lip. She had graduated to wringing her hands as she walked when the hall door finally opened.

Scarlett stopped. Rhett's broad shoulders filled the doorframe as he stepped into the room, then closed the door behind himself with a click that echoed loud as a gunshot in her ears. As he advanced, she retreated, until the bed met her thighs and she sat abruptly.

Rhett's face was as smooth and unreadable as only he could be. He didn't even lift his eyebrows as he stopped by the foot of the bed, loosened his cravat and dropped it in his open bag, then carefully laid jacket and waistcoat down. He had redressed with more formal care after they had returned to the house. His grey trousers were perfectly tailored and clung to his muscled legs, unlike the loose and worn pair he had worn for their picnic. The fabric strained when he sat on the bench to work his boots off. The muscles of his broad chest rippled under a fine white shirt as he tugged. Scarlett felt almost lightheaded from the visual impact.

After his second boot had thudded to the floor to join its mate, Rhett came around to sit beside her on the bed. He reached across her to extinguish the lamp, and she stiffened nervously as his broad body brushed against her. He lifted her left hand with his right, folding her small fingers over his. They trembled as she closed her hand on his. The silent moment seemed to stretch, growing taut with tension that vibrated in her belly and under every inch of skin. Scarlett could no longer bear it and opened her mouth to speak, to say anything, but before she could his lips were on hers and whatever words she might have said died as a low moan into his mouth.

The kiss was soft, his firm lips moving gently over hers, molding her mouth with tender care. She squeezed his hand and, twisting, brought her other hand up to rest against his chest. She flattened her palm against him, timid and unsure of her welcome; unsure even of how to touch her own husband. She almost never had; just once, during a hazy, dark night that seemed very long ago.

But Rhett turned as well, pressing against her hand, and curving his free arm around her waist to pull her close, closer; to skim her back and hips through the thin nightdress until his arm was under her rear and he was pulling her up and into his lap. Instinctively, Scarlett wiggled, testing the security of this new perch. She was astonished when Rhett groaned and broke the kiss, his head falling back.

"Rhett?" she whispered, hesitantly, the hand from his chest moving to touch his roughened cheek.

"You have no idea," he growled, his head coming down hard, the kiss this time no longer tender but fierce and demanding. Scarlett melted under his lips, against his chest, the throbbing heat that pulsed through her seeming to rob her of all strength. She curled her hand down from his cheek to grip the back of his neck, holding his mouth to hers now, not wanting him to turn away again. The ends of his hair that brushed her thumb and forefinger were soft and ticklish. Slowly, she moved the hand up, threading her fingers through his hair with small movements, afraid he might stop her. Afraid she was too bold, too brazen; afraid of doing the wrong thing, above all.

Rhett released the hand he had captured, and with both his large hands on her shoulder blades his fingertips met over the dips and ridges of her spine. He moved them firmly down her back, the heels of his hands skimming her sides, following the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips, then gripping her thighs and drawing her even closer. He groaned again as he pulled her across his lap. She felt him, then, and it was her turn to break the kiss. Her face reddened at the press of him along her thigh, and she buried her head in his neck. Scarlett tried to tell herself she shouldn't be embarrassed, this was Rhett, her husband; but for all her past experiences of marriage and the marriage bed, tonight felt as new and shocking as if she were an innocent all over again. In fact - she had been, in this very room, until the night Charles had - until the second night of her married life.

Rhett didn't question, didn't move to kiss her again. Instead he moved his hands in patient strokes up and down her hips, her back; slid them around to her arms and squeezed her to the elbows; scoped the sides of her body again. Slid his hands back up, with his thumbs now skimming her front, and her belly quivered under his light touch. His thumbs teased the pendulous undersides of her breasts, and she bit her lip and pressed her face harder into the heat of his neck. He swept the generous curves, back and forth, edging upward so slowly that she was trembling by the time he brushed the callused pads across the peaks of her nipples.

Scarlett's face was pressed along his neck, her mouth in the curve down to his shoulder, and at this electrifying touch she bit her lip to stifle a whimper and caught the skin of his neck with her teeth. His large hands squeezed her ribs and she heard his sharp intake of breath. More embarrassed than ever, she pulled her head back, her face red from hairline to the neck of her nightdress.

"I'm sorry - Rhett—"

"No," he said, as his thumbs resumed their leisurely circles on her breasts. "Don't be."

"But—"

"No," he breathed into her mouth before kissing her.

He teased her nipples again with a few broad strokes of his thumbs, then slid his hands quickly down the slick fine cotton of her nightdress. He curled one arm around her back, holding her in place, while the other started to tug at her hem. He licked at her lips, his tongue darting deftly, teasing the tip of her own, taunting her to join him. With a heady rush, she slipped her tongue after his, and the duel began in earnest.

He tugged at her nightdress until it was pooled across her thighs, trapped by her weight resting on him. He relented, and switched to unbuttoning his own shirt. When it gaped open over his chest, Scarlett pressed a palm to his collarbone. To his bare skin - his hand dropped again, and his calluses were coarse on her smooth thigh. His fingers slid, treacherously, down her legs, seeking between her thighs, and her muscles tightened as sudden fear swept in and chilled her heart.

"Wait," she said, pulling her mouth away from his. For a moment, he seemed not to hear her, as his fingers continued to delve and press between her legs.

"Wait!" she cried, with a panicked edge to her voice. Rhett finally stopped, abruptly. He pulled his hand back and, pressed to him so intimately, she could feel every muscle in his thighs and chest tightening.

"Wait?" he bit back, and his voice went flat and cold as he continued. "Ah, is this the moment when you reveal your hand on the whip, darling?"

Scarlett didn't quite understand, but for once she would not be baited. She ignored his nonsensical question. "No. Rhett. I need to know...is this still - nothing's changed?" His shoulders relaxed, dropping just an inch under her palms, but the lack of response panicked her. "You can't do this, Rhett, you can't do this _to me_. I'm your wife, and I want to _be_ your wife, not just - not your mistress. And this - us - we're your family. You can't keep running away."

"You can't stop me," he said, curiously detached.

"No, but - but I can stop welcoming you back." She lifted her chin and clenched her jaw to stop its quiver. Her eyes, luminous green, met and held his. The moonlight did little to illuminate their depths. Rhett was still, unmoving, and in shadows. He was dark skin, darker black mustache, and the glint of animal-white teeth just visible.

"Would you do that?"

"I don't want to, please, Rhett—"

"But you would."

Scarlett lifted her shoulders and, dropping her hands to her lap, tugged her nightgown back down until it fell over her knees again.

"Yes. I don't want to live like this. I don't want you to come home, every few months, just to use me like - like you would Belle Watling. I'm your wife. I love you. You never gave me a chance." Scarlett slid easily from Rhett's slackened grip and started to pace from the window to the door. "I know I hurt you, cruelly, I was mean and stupid, but Rhett, you never even gave me a chance. You just kept running away. You keep running away. I can't - I won't—"

She came to a stop before the open window, her chest heaving violently as she gasped and fought for every breath. Then Rhett was there, his size overwhelming her, his arms around her waist and shoulders, and he was kissing her with hard, insistent lips that parted hers and tried to overpower her frazzled defenses. Before pleasure could drive all thought from her again, before she slipped into that sweet blackness that tugged at her senses, she pushed and struggled and turned her head away. Rhett released her, and she took a hasty step back, trying to escape his long reach. He hadn't said anything - hadn't _solved_ anything.

Rhett followed, step by step, as she retreated, step by step, until at last she could go no further. Her back hit the wall beside the window, the sill digging into her hip. Rhett kept coming, and his arms came up on either side of her head. Flattening his palms against the wall, he caged her with his arms and chest, and the cool plaster behind her back. Scarlett wanted to cry and swallowed the lump in her throat, but her voice throbbed with unshed tears as she spoke.

"I want to love you, Rhett. That's all."

Rhett gave no indication that he heard her, but the kiss he lowered to her mouth was gentler, tender, undemanding. She pressed her palm to his chest, and he lifted his mouth a hair's breadth.

"I don't - something has changed. You've changed, or maybe I've changed."

"Rhett?"

"Hush now," he whispered, the caress of his breath across her lips followed by the solid warmth of his mouth.

Nothing was settled. He hadn't said anything real, he hadn't made the promises or declarations she wanted to hear. But he said something had changed. Hope and desire surged, a warm flood that drowned Scarlett's senses. She lifted her arms and twined them over Rhett's shoulders, clutching at his back and neck, clinging to him as the only solid thing, always the only constant in a mad world. Did he mean he was staying? Was this a mistake, was he going to leave - to _run_ \- again?

 _I'll think about that tomorrow_ , Scarlett told herself, as Rhett grasped her hips and effortlessly lifted her, drawing her close to his chest. He stumbled away from the wall, turning and stepping blindly backwards toward the bed. They tumbled to the quilt together; even in the fall Rhett carefully guided her body so that she landed on his chest with her legs alongside his. Their feet tangled as he rolled to his side, then raised himself up and over her. His body bore hers down into the mattress and instinctively, Scarlett arched and pressed up against him.

This was something she had missed, oh yes; the inevitable surrender, the comfort of his weight on hers and the feeling of sinking into this mad, hot darkness that licked flames under her skin. His lips moved on hers, parting them with insistent pressure until his tongue licked teasingly at the corners of her lips. His breath was hot in her mouth as he teased her, sliding his tongue along her lower lip, licking just under the edge, but not pressing his advantage. Frustrated impatience drove her at last to slip her tongue alongside his. Her arms were around his shoulders and she pulled at them desperately. Rhett was immovable but she lifted her back and shoulders off the bed, gaining more leverage to press her mouth hard to his.

Rhett took advantage, sliding one large hand behind her shoulder blades, taking all his weight on his other arm. His mouth moved to her jaw, following the sharp line of it with open-mouthed kisses that scorched her skin. Her neck felt languid, too weak to support her, and her head dropped until the crown rested on the soft mattress. Rhett's hand flexed under her back. His mouth dipped, moving down. He nipped softly at the sensitive underside of her jaw and the unexpected jolt of lightning that speared through her made her whimper. He soothed her with wordless murmurs as his lips traveled lower still, coming to rest on the rise of her breasts under the nightdress.

He stopped. His breath stirred the thin fabric and her nipples peaked in anticipation. The wanton sensation of her skin tightening against the cotton and the whisper of his breath penetrating the fabric made her flush. Still Rhett did not move. She tried to relax into his hand, but as the moment stretched she grew instead more and more tense. What was wrong? Had she done something? Was this - after all - not what he wanted?

Scarlett squirmed, her hips moving under his, and lifted her heavy head to look down at the bent black head resting on her chest. She could just see his cheek and jaw, enough to see the tight muscles that twitched as he clenched his teeth. Softly, she pressed her fingertips to the rigid line. "Rhett?" she whispered.

Rhett lifted his head and the leaping light in his dark eyes stole her breath. Time, which had been slowed to a crawl in that tense silent moment, suddenly barreled ahead. His mouth crashed over hers again and his hand lowered her back to the bed. He gripped the skirt of her nightdress and tugged it roughly, drawing it up in fits and starts as the fabric pulled free of her weight. Once the hem was loose around her waist, he lifted them both to sit up and dragged it free over her head.

Hot shame and cold fear beat unwelcome wings inside her breast when Rhett bared her body. Only Rhett, her third husband, had ever seen her naked body. Neither Charles nor Frank had ever dared the liberty of removing her nightclothes, or even their own, when exercising their marital rights. And it had been so long since even Rhett - the intimacy was new all over again. Her fluttering hands lifted awkwardly, instinctually to cover her pale breasts, but Rhett caught her wrists. His hands braceleted her slim bones and he pulled her to press her palms against his taut abdomen. His eyes bore into hers as he released her wrists, and she struggled to clear her mind enough to interpret his gaze. Nervously, she licked her lips. Rhett touched her hands again, nudging them towards the buttons of his shirt. It gaped open at the chest, revealing thick black hair, but was only half undone. Biting her lip, she kept her eyes on his as her nimble fingers slipped the first button loose. Rhett smiled with such unexpected tenderness that it took twice as long to slip the next button free, her fingers had set to trembling so violently.

Rhett's large, warm hands came to rest on her thighs, skin to skin. Somehow the contact, despite the reminder of her nudity, soothed her. Her hands steadied and she was able to undo the remaining few buttons of his shirt with unpracticed ease. At last, the ends opened freely around his waist, and moving more confidently, she tugged it off his shoulders.

Rhett lifted his hands and shrugged the rest of the way out of the shirt, then reached to unbutton his own trousers. Scarlett breathed out unexpected relief that he would not ask that of her; breathed in a wave of bold courage that shot through her down to her own hands which reached for his. He stilled at her assertive touch, then took his hands out from underneath her own. She dropped her eyes to his lap and undid one button, then sudden shyness rose again to flush her cheeks. She jerked her eyes back up to his. That was hardly better; his black eyes seemed to gleam in the moonlight, looking too much like mockery, but he touched her chin with a gentle fingertip and brushed whisper-light kisses to her cheek and the corner of her mouth. She slipped another button, then another, as his mustache tickled her cheek. Another button, and she froze for a moment before jerking her hands away as if stung. She had _felt_ him, springing suddenly from the undone trousers, a hot brand of velvet against the backs of her hands. She had never touched him before, surely no lady would—

Rhett stood and stepped out of the loosened trousers, letting them fall to the floor. Her cheeks still burning with a blush whose heat she felt spread down to her chest, Scarlett kept her eyes on his, careful not to look below his shoulders. Rhett grinned down at her, but there was no mockery in it; it was free and open, a reckless scoundrel's grin that bared his teeth and crinkled the corners of his eyes. He crouched down next to the bed and set his hands against her hips. She flattened her palms on the quilt, unsure what was required of her, expected, or allowed. The worn cotton tickled her bottom as he dragged her to the edge of the bed.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her stomach, just above her belly button. His mouth opened over her skin, which quavered under the caress as he moved his lips slowly up, up, his soft hair tickling her breasts as he kissed his way to her collarbone. She lifted her hands to pull at his shoulders, trying to move this into a format more familiar, more comfortable for her. She felt too exposed, sitting upright at the edge of her bed. But Rhett always was perverse, and he showed no sign of understanding or responding to her silent urging. His nose nuzzled lazily slow at the side of her breast, followed by his warm breath across her nipple before his mouth closed around the pebbled tip.

Scarlett's softly urging hands tightened, her finely shaped nails pressing into the muscles of Rhett's shoulders. He sucked her nipple firmly between his lips and sent lightning arcs of sensation from her breast to her belly; lower, to that hot, secret place between her legs. She moved on the bed, squeezing her thighs together, shifting her legs as she tried to relieve the pressure that was building, that hollow ache only Rhett had ever created - only Rhett had ever filled.

Only - "Rhett," she whispered urgently, having no words for these intimate moments other than his name and the shy feelings that shaped it. At last, he answered, lifting his head. The hot summer air was cool on her damp skin. He picked her up and cradled her against his broad chest. At last, she thought. He would pull back the quilt, and they would slip between the sheets, the cotton and his body would shield and cover her, his weight would surround and fill her and under his protection, she wouldn't have to feel so shy, so exposed as she had been.

Moving carefully, juggling her weight in one arm, Rhett did throw back the quilt, but he only turned and sat again on the bed. Scarlett pushed away from his chest, her teeth clenched in frustration, and turned flashing eyes up to him. Rhett kissed her, distracting her again. She closed her eyes and let his mouth press and mold her own, let her tongue flick his when he licked gently into her mouth. She felt a hand slide down her sweat-slick skin, following her waist and hip and along her thigh to cup behind her knee. Exerting steady pressure, he urged her leg over, brought her knee awkwardly to the mattress next to his hip. With her side no longer pressed to his front, he slipped a hand behind her other knee and drew it down as well. Running his nails ticklishly light up the backs of her thighs, he clasped her hips, his fingertips pressing into her buttocks, and eased her down until her thighs rested on his. Her calves hugged his thighs and the coarse short hairs of his legs tickled the sensitive soles of her feet.

Scarlett's eyes flew open. Nothing about this night had been expected but this - surely this was too much. Panting, she broke the kiss, her mouth open and ready to protest.

Rhett pressed a finger to the center of her lips.

"Hush. Scarlett. I want to see you. I - please. Do you trust me?" He must have seen an answer in her face, for he chuckled ruefully and amended his statement. "Can you trust me tonight?"

How could she trust him? He had left her nine months before, left her grieving and alone, nearly broken her with his departure and the hard lessons he had coldly and unemotionally imparted beforehand. He had - he had _toyed_ with her since then. And yet, here they were. She had already made this decision, accepted this night, laid all her hopes in his hands. Trust him? She would think about that tomorrow, too.

"Y-yes," she stuttered.

"You trust me, or you can trust me tonight?"

She smiled, lightly and coquettishly out of long habit. "Well, tonight."

He laughed again, another low chuckle that ended in a groan as he tightened his arms about her. "Thank you," he murmured against her mouth, brushing her lips with the words like the lightest of kisses.

Moving carefully slow, Rhett stretched one arm behind her back, under her spine, and cupped the back of her head in the palm of his hand. Her black hair flowed between his fingers in a straight waterfall to his legs. He lowered his arm, tipping her slightly backwards from the hips as he did so. Scarlett gulped noisy breaths of air. With his other hand, he squeezed her hip.

"It's all right," he murmured. His broad, callused palm slid over her belly. The pale flesh, slender and soft, shivered. He turned his hand, palm and fingers spanning her waist from edge to edge. His fingers moved slowly, still achingly slowly, down her belly, to tangle in the wild curls between her legs. Her arms, hanging awkwardly at her sides, trembled as she lifted them. She didn't know what to do with them - where to rest them, what to touch.

"Brace yourself on my knees," Rhett murmured, not looking up. His black eyes burned so brightly she could swear she felt their heat on her skin as they traced her body. The tip of his thick thumb pressed deep between her legs, brushing the sensitive bundle of nerves that was so wantonly exposed in this position. Scarlett cried out as a trembling wave rose from her belly to her shoulders, her whole body convulsing in a long, slow arc. But Rhett did not pause, his brutal thumb swept over her again, and again, eliciting strained whimpers with every touch.

Scarlett did brace her hands on his knees, and clutched at his legs for strength, the weight of her body supported almost entirely by Rhett's arm and thighs. She clenched his thighs between her own, the coarse curling hair on his legs abrading her now as it pressed against her skin.

"Rhett," she choked out, her head thrashing as much as it could in the secure grip of his palm. It wasn't that she had forgotten this, the burning ache, the dark tide of pleasure spiraling tighter and tighter between her legs, how could she forget? It was too strange, too wonderful. It was overwhelming. Her hips lifted, pressing up into his hand, seeking his touch with silent prayers that he would never stop this.

Her chest heaved in the open air, but she forgot to be embarrassed, forgot that he was leaning back and watching her with those burning black eyes, forgot everything but the center of the world under his hand, between her legs, her hips moving frantically as the knot of pleasure grew tighter and tighter until it burst in a vivid shower of sensation, sending sparks from the very core of her that danced along her skin to the tips of her fingers and toes, to the tight pink nipples that rose in the moonlight as her chest lifted with every panting breath, to her scalp that was tickled by his long fingers in her hair. The arc of her body lifted her off his thighs but his relentless hand did not lose its rhythm.

As the rolling tide of release receded in slow waves, she sank back against Rhett's legs once more. She lifted her arms, reaching for him, for surely - now -

But Rhett did not move closer so she could wrap her arms around him, hide her face against him, kiss him softly with all the words she couldn't say on her lips. The rhythm of his chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths was the only indication he was affected at all. That, and - _Oh_.

Rhett's hand was busy, moving around her body, adjusting her hips one moment, his finger between her legs on sensitive skin that tingled at his touch as he opened her gently. His hand nudged her hips again, and she felt him rising along the inside of her thigh. Oh.

He raised his head to her then, staring into her eyes, apparently looking for something though she did not know what it might be. Then his chin jerked in an abbreviated nod. He maneuvered her forward, lifted her, disappeared between her legs again, and then his long, elegant fingers fell away and she felt the hot tip of him pressing against her. Her hands, which had dropped away from his lack of response, gripped his knees again. His hand gripped her hip and urged her slowly forward and down, and though his eyes were still on hers, her lashes fluttered closed as she struggled to relax, to adjust to the intrusion, the feeling of fullness and exquisite pressure that was both new and familiar at the same time. Her breath caught in her throat and she shivered at the gravelled sound of Rhett's groan.

When the backs of her thighs were seated flush against him again, Rhett paused. He flexed the tips of his fingers beneath her head, and the fall of her hair whispered sibilantly, stirred by his touch.

"Open your eyes," Rhett growled. She shook her head. That would be too much. She already felt exposed, her body bared to his gaze. His eyes on hers would be ten times worse.

"Open them," he repeated, and his hands tightened on her head and hip. "Please. Scarlett. Please," he said, nearly panting.

Her cheeks flamed as she raised her lashes. Not coquetry, but nervous tension, set them to fluttering. When their eyes met, he rocked his hand - and underneath it, her hip.

Scarlett gasped. Her eyes, so reluctantly opened, went wide with shocked sensation. Her hip slid back down under his slick palm. He rocked her again, nudging her up and back and then letting her slide. She felt her inner muscles clench and Rhett groaned in answer.

He helped her move like that, a slow rocking motion and the slide of sweaty limbs against each other, for long, endless moments. When her eyelids drooped, his fingers pressed into the flesh of her hip and he stilled until she opened them again. His own eyes sometimes burned into hers, sometimes traced the curves of her displayed body with such intimacy that she trembled. Tension began to lick at her belly again, building slowly as his deliberate manipulation of her movements went on and on. The warm pool of desire that made her languid and limp in his arms gradually coalesced into that tight, familiar knot. Sudden impatience moved her to lift her hips on her own, without his guiding hand, deviating from his carefully slow rhythm. She saw the flash of Rhett's white teeth as he grinned.

It was like he had been waiting for her to take control. His hand left her hip, slid back across her belly, nudged between her legs as she rocked her hips over his. For the first time, his hips moved. It was a small movement, constrained by his seat supporting his own weight and hers, but as she rocked against him his hips jerked up to meet her. His thumb found that bundle of nerves, now almost overly sensitized after her first release, and as he teased her she found her hips rolling restlessly in response.

Her movements sped, driven by the tension in her belly, the promise of release under his thumb, and the fullness between her legs. She squeezed him unconsciously, her body moving to seek pleasure of its own accord. His guidance was unnecessary, her ignorance no longer a hindrance.

The change was not lost on Rhett. His hand tightened on her head almost painfully, and he groaned her name between clenched teeth as his hips ground under hers, driving them both higher and closer. The sound not of her own name, but of the broken emotion in his voice, tipped her over the edge. Her rhythm broke, her back arching again over his arm as release washed over her in a bright wave. She forgot he wanted her eyes open, squeezed them shut and saw not darkness, but white light behind her eyelids. Rhett's hips jerked frantically until she felt the warmth of his release as he joined her.

Rhett was tense beneath her, but still. Her own body relaxed slowly, her weight on his arm and thighs growing heavy. She rolled her head languidly against his palm. Both his arms came around her, easing her up and forward gently, until her breasts brushed his chest hair. She lifted her head then, tipped it forward to look down between their still joined bodies, looked up at Rhett - and sudden shame flooded her. She was - she was wanton, she was no better than a mistress, she was exactly what she had told him she wouldn't be. This was the opposite of the plans she had lain that morning. She pressed her chest to his, clung to him and hid her face against his neck, hoping the sheen of sweat that covered them both would disguise her tears, but her shoulders shook involuntarily.

Rhett's large hands were warm and soothing as he stroked her back. "Hush," he murmured with his lips in her frazzled hair. "Scarlett, hush. Darling. What's wrong?"

She shook her head, rubbing her face between his neck and shoulder.

With wordless murmurs and sweeping strokes of his hands, he continued to soothe her, but did not ask her again. When the silent stream of tears had stopped, she pulled her head back just enough for a cool stream of fresh air to flow between her lips and his skin.

"Will you stay tomorrow, at least?"

Rhett's body sagged under her. "Yes, I will stay tomorrow."

She slipped damp fingers through his chest hair and tugged gently. Her voice was barely audible. "And next week? Next month?"

She felt tension draw his shoulders back again, and squeezed her eyes shut in preparation for the blow.

"Scarlett, I—"

"Never mind!" she cried, drawing back and flinging off his hands. "I don't want to know. I don't want to think about that tonight. I can't."

"You'll think about that tomorrow?" he smirked at her. Scarlett scowled. "I will be here tomorrow. I'll be here the day after. I," he cleared his throat. "I am trying to be honest with you - and with myself. I am not ready for Atlanta. Oh, I have realized the error of my ways, my pet, at least some of them. I left here to find something that never really existed. But Atlanta is still too raw. Too much has happened. Do you understand?" He pressed a fingertip under her chin and lifted her head to meet his eyes. She stared at him, for she did not understand, but she wanted to. More than anything, she wanted to understand Rhett, to complete the insights that had begun in September. His eyes were somber, shadowed in the night, but as she looked at him her mind churned restlessly until - she realized. And it was so obvious, so blindingly obvious.

"Bonnie," she breathed, and his finger dropped, his arms snaking around her waist to pull her close. He didn't answer, but she knew. The trembling of his muscled shoulder under her cheek told her everything. "I love you," she added, tipping her head to kiss his jaw.

Rhett didn't answer, but for the first time since September, she didn't mind. She was, at last, beginning to understand him, to see him clearly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tenderly against her. She knew he would be back.


	16. Chapter 16

The late summer afternoon was unseasonably cool when the Butlers returned to Atlanta. Wade Hampton Hamilton was almost unrecognizable as the boy who had left in June. Long days under the sweltering July sun had left him nearly as dark as his stepfather, and after a summer growth spurt he was now of a height with Scarlett. Shoeless, hatless, with her hair down, Wade might even have a slight edge. Despite Scarlett's best efforts and constant admonishments, the often bonnetless Ella was thickly freckled across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. The children seemed the very picture of health and happiness after the weeks at Tara.

With Scarlett's luggage, the children's, and the additional packages and parcels accumulated in Philadelphia, they had a small mountain unloaded on the station platform. Ella crowed with delight as Rhett lifted her to sit atop several stacked suitcases.

"Rhett, it isn't safe, she'll topple right off."

"Hush, Scarlett, it's no more dangerous than climbing a tree," Rhett answered with a wink. Scarlett blushed and turned away to hide her face. Her small white hands fluttered at the brim of her hat as if she had to adjust it. Rhett shared a grin with Ella. He couldn't forget the memory of his wife, with her ladylike pretensions if not true gentility, sitting on a branch high above the ground with a victorious smirk on her face. Wade's taunting of Ella for being afraid to climb the tree with him, coupled with Rhett's own smirks, had fired Scarlett's hot temper and struck a childish competitive nerve. He couldn't forget, and he'd be damned if he let her forget any time soon.

Rhett sent Wade to find a porter and a cab. His stepson's shoulders were squared and proud as he marched off to fulfill his task. Rhett kept his face carefully blank as he watched Wade walk off. It seemed only Rhett's firm demands, and reprimands, kept his tongue civil towards Scarlett. Even Ella had had to absorb some of Wade's increasingly volatile temper. But with Rhett, and with Will Benteen, Wade was deferential to the point of reverence.

Scarlett had turned back to him, tilting her head just enough to give him a glimpse of her eyes beneath the wide, netted brim of her hat. Keeping his posture casual with the ease of long habit, the hands slipped into his pockets clenched into fists as Rhett contemplated, not for the first time, how much of that disdain for his mother Wade had learned from Rhett's own treatment of his wife.

Scarlett's tilted, fascinating eyes flicked down for a moment before seeking his own again. As he watched, he saw her shoulders square, that unconscious gesture she had when preparing for some sort of battle; the same posture her son showed. He raised his eyebrows, inviting her to speak.

"Rhett," she said quietly, taking a step closer to him. "Are you coming - home?"

There it was. His fisted hands flexed, blunt nails pressing into his palms. Tension settled iron bands across his chest and squeezed.

Rhett took her hands in his and, raising them to his lips, kissed both her knuckles. He spread her arms wide and his eyes scoped her form appreciatively, head to toe. Her dark green dress deepened the color of her eyes to emerald, eyes that were currently flashing at him with a curious mixture of apprehension and anger. She wanted an answer. The high neck set off her face like a portrait, framed with ivory ruching below and above, the folds of her ivory and green hat perched forward on her thick black hair. She blushed and dimpled under his perusal. Her head tilted to demurely hide her eyes behind lowered lashes which fluttered darkly on her reddened cheeks. The dress was beautiful, _she_ was beautiful, lush, young, alive with vigor and energy; but instead of soothing him, something more like panic clenched his gut.

"My pet, I'm afraid you are far too tempting a morsel. No, I fear for my peace of my mind in the face of your persuasive charms."

Scarlett frowned, and the eyes that lifted again to his had hardened at their tilted corners.

"What are you saying, Rhett?"

"You look hard as nails, Scarlett, that's much better. Now you may murder me in my sleep, but at least I will rest untroubled."

"Rhett," she steamed, and he knew she heard only riddles in his biting speech.

Ah, well, at least she was riled. If he left her as a cad, it might hurt her less.

"I"m going away," he said ruefully. She became so still he wondered if she even continued to breathe. "I've business in New Orleans," he continued, only half a lie. True at face value, but inadequate as a reason for leaving her yet again.

"What business is that?" she snapped. She tugged her hands and he let them go. With one hand, he drew out his pocket watch and pretended to study the time. "Another mistress? Another ward?"

Inwardly, he winced. He clapped the watch shut and tucked it back into his jacket, then took a step towards her. Her chin came up sharply, but she held her ground.

"You are far too exhausting, I'm not sure I could survive a mistress, too," he said lowly, bending to her ear.

He watched her chest heave as she struggled, then she clutched her fingers in his lapels. "Rhett, you will come home, won't you?"

Rhett wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. She turned her head so the press of his chest would not disturb her hat. "I will come home, darling."

He heard her draw in a deep breath, then she stepped out of his embrace. She shook her skirts and set her shoulders again. He cleared his throat.

"I wondered if Wade might come with."

"What? No. No, you can't."

"I don't want to leave him alone with you."

"Oh - oh! You vile - loathsome - no. Never again-"

"I'm not insulting your mothering, not this time. I don't want him to hurt you."

"Hurt me? Hurt - me? He's my son."

"He's angry."

"That is your fault!" Scarlett cried, her voice rising high enough to draw the attention of several other people on the platform.

"Hush," he said, stepping close to her again. "I know. He's mad at you because he thinks you drove me away."

"Well, didn't I?" she muttered, bitterly. He ignored it.

"I am sorry I didn't realize it sooner. I wasn't paying attention, I should have seen - well, no use in that. It _is_ my fault, and I know it. Wade is young, and angry, and far too impetuous." Rhett smiled ruefully. "I know it well. He won't trouble to guard his tongue once I'm gone."

"Then don't go."

"Don't push me, Scarlett." Her jaw squared as she bristled. "No. I'm not going to fight with you on that. I want your permission to take Wade with me. We need - we need to come to terms. Man to man."

"Fine."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. If I say no, he'll probably follow you on his own."

"He - what?"

Scarlett looked down at her twisting hands. "It's nothing."

He grasped her hands and rubbed his thumbs over the smooth backs. "What has he done?"

Scarlett's shoulders drooped and her eyes glistened. "He ran away once already."

"When?"

"After his last birthday. He took money from the house, walked with Ella to school, then put himself on the train to Charleston."

"He was in Charleston?" After Wade's last birthday, Rhett had been at his mother's - in Charleston.

"Only the train station. The school sent word to me when he wasn't in class. I realized how much money was gone, knew what he could afford, and I thought - I thought he might have followed you. Or gone where he thought you might be. I didn't know where you were - but maybe he did." Rhett winced. "I told the police and they sent a telegram- someone met him in Charleston and they sent him home on the return train."

Rhett swallowed hard around a sudden obstruction in his throat. "Wade and I have a lot to talk about."

"He's my son—"

"But this is my fault, at least in part. He's growing up, my dear. It's not easy for a boy to figure out who he should be as a man. He might have been bitter and angry without my help, but I have certainly helped him along." Scarlett shrugged, a defeated gesture that tugged at his sore heart. He tightened his hands on hers. "You will let him come with me?"

"Yes."

Rhett pulled gently on her hands until she took a step, closing the gap between them. He lowered his head and kissed her softly, heedless of the crowded platform. For a moment, she let him, then she stepped back quickly. Her cheeks were red again. "It's not proper," she muttered, moving away toward Ella. Rhett could see Wade picking his way back to them through the crowd.

Rhett made Wade help the porter load his mother's and sister's luggage on the cart. It dampened Wade's enthusiasm for the news that he would continue on with his stepfather, but only slightly. When the luggage was transferred, Wade stood proudly by the small handful of cases that would travel to New Orleans. They would leave on the next train. Rhett didn't trust his resolve, if he set foot in the house on Peachtree Street. If he went home with Scarlett, he wouldn't leave, but he wasn't ready to commit to that life. It would only end badly again, if not worse. There was still too much grief that damned, dark mausoleum dredged up every time he had returned to Atlanta. If he couldn't defeat it in New Orleans - ah, well, to borrow wisdom from his wife, he would think about that later.

Wade was excited enough to leave that he tolerated Scarlett's tight hug without flinching. His face was neutral. Ella clung to Rhett's neck when he lifted her for a hug and a kiss, and he felt tears on his skin. He blew a raspberry on her wet cheek until she giggled.

"I'll see you before school starts, Miss Ella. You will be good for your mother?" After watery promises, he set her down, and she ran to cling to Scarlett's skirts.

Rhett stepped close to his wife. Scarlett tilted her head, her eyes flashing at him from underneath her bristly black lashes.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Butler," he said, gravely.

"Come home, Rhett."

He swept his hat off and gave her a gallant bow. When he stood she moved swiftly to him and raised herself on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He heard her whisper before she stepped back, "I love you." Then his wife took her daughter's hand and walked away.

Rhett left Wade with their luggage while he went to purchase their tickets. He tipped his hat absently as he passed the Mrs. Elsing and Merriwether. The dour ladies gaped at his back and hurriedly put their heads together after he passed.

"Did you see them arrive together?" Mrs. Elsing asked.

"Scarlett's been at Tara, of course, but I had no idea Captain Butler had returned," Mrs. Merriwether related.

"He took those children away weeks ago, without her. Do you think - well he must have taken them to Tara."

"I didn't think he'd ever been out to her folks' place."

"He's hardly even been in Atlanta for months."

"He's been in Charleston more than home. Mrs. Eulalie Ward writes to me regularly. It pained us both," Mrs. Merriwether clucked disingenuously, "to know that her dear niece and her husband have been apart." Both ladies giggled shamelessly.

"But they definitely arrived on the same train, the one from Jonesboro."

"But Scarlett and Ella Kennedy -"

"And Captain Butler and Wade Hamilton still here with their luggage!"

"But did you see - how indecent - she was always a fast piece of trash."

"He is her husband," Mrs. Elsing allowed.

"Such a display in public is highly improper."

A loudly cleared throat made both ladies jump and clasp their throats, suddenly terrified at least one object of their gossip had overheard them. But when they stepped apart and looked up, it was in fact Sarah Bonnell who looked down her nose at them imperiously. The young Mrs. Bonnell did not have the clout Melanie Hamilton Wilkes had possessed in the society bastions of Atlanta, but she was nevertheless from an upright, impeccable family, and was a fine young woman in her own right.

"If anything is improper, Mrs. Merriwether, it is your unrestricted gossip. Didn't I see your Maybelle kissing her husband out in the street just this morning as he left to drive the pie wagon? And you, Mrs. Elsing, would do well to remember that Scarlett employed your son when his other ventures were failing, and his income has kept the roof over your head these last several years."

Mrs. Merriwether sniffed. "If not for Scarlett, Fanny would not have been a widow." Patronizingly, she reached over to squeeze Mrs. Elsing's demurely gloved hand.

"That was a long time ago, Mrs. Merriwether. And don't you think she suffered, too? Was not Scarlett widowed the same night?"

Both ladies huffed. Mrs. Elsing's voice crackled in response. "Everyone knows she didn't give a fig for poor Frank Kennedy. She married that scalawag Butler barely a year after Mr. Kennedy died."

"And yet you all forgave Captain Butler quite nicely when he came calling with Bonnie in tow. Doesn't Scarlett deserve some courtesy?"

The ladies' faces were now beet red, and they began to splutter in response, but the frustrated Sarah Bonnell cut them off.

"At least think of Melanie Wilkes. She loved Scarlett dearly, and you know it. And you can not deny that Scarlett suffered when she died, as much as if not more than any one of us. You dishonor Melanie's memory when you insult her friend."

Neither Mrs. Elsing nor Mrs. Merriwether could bring herself to gainsay that statement. Sarah offered a clipped "Good day" before she left them to grumble alone.

…

The grim tension that lately characterized his stepson was nowhere in evidence when Rhett boosted Wade into the drop-down upper berth of their private sleeper car. The novelty of a bed that seemed to hang from the ceiling was so exciting, Rhett worried he might never sleep. Rhett ruffled Wade's hair, hefted a few of the boy's new books up to him, and sprawled on one of the long benches under the bunk. The opened bed above took up most of the headroom of the seating area. Rhett slouched against the seatback with his feet propped up on the opposite cushion. Resting on one elbow, he cut and lit a cigar.

The plush train car was dimly illuminated. Rhett's mother would have had something to say about letting a boy read in such poor light. In the shadow of the bunk, the tip of his cigar glowed brightly. He exhaled a long stream of smoke, then closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

What the hell was he doing?

He could have discussed that question with himself for the duration of the trip to New Orleans, going over the last few weeks - if not the last several months - and not gotten to the present issue. His wife's procrastinatory habits had a certain charm, he had to admit. He might not think about it tomorrow, but he certainly wouldn't be thinking about it today. No, he'd stick to the matter at hand: why was he bringing Wade with him? He'd told Scarlett the truth, he felt at least partly to blame for the way the formerly timid, well-mannered boy was changing into a bitter, angry young man. He just wasn't sure what he intended to do about it - in New Orleans, or elsewhere. He supposed most men fathered their sons as they had been raised themselves. Never would Rhett treat a boy of his own the way his father had done.

Boys were a damned nuisance. Wade hadn't shown the early signs of hellraising like certain other boys he knew and had known, but here they were anyway. Wade hadn't been much of a boy at all, when he was younger. War, and Scarlett, had frightened him to the core of his childish soul. But, for all Rhett's jibes at her and Wade's own fears, Wade loved - had loved - his mother very much. Rhett remembered the conversation he'd had with his stepson on the day of Bonnie's birth, remembered the boy's tears and the terror in his soft brown eyes. The mysterious adult events of that day and the unknown threat to his mother had shaken him.

Well, now something else had shaken him, and moved him to anger. And, though Wade certainly saw it differently, that something else was Rhett's actions. That the boy blamed Scarlett for his stepfather's departure was clear, but the truth was that Rhett had sparked this change, whether Wade saw it that way or not. Wade was following a pattern that Rhett had set, with cruel words and running away, and seeing it in his stepson left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He'd barnstormed Atlanta to make a place for Bonnie, and given nary a thought to what other legacies he might be building for the children. It was too late to patch up the past, but he'd finally started to see the future again.

Rhett listened to the crisp whisper of turning pages until his cigar was a burnt, stubby end. Siding out from underneath Wade's bunk, he shrugged out of his dressing gown and told the boy he was going to turn out the lamps.

"But Uncle Rhett," Wade began, almost whining.

"It's late, Wade. This is a long trip and you'll want to be rested when we get to New Orleans, won't you?" Wade grumbled but shut his book with a thunk. Rhett crawled into his own bed, safely at floor level. The sway and clatter of the train put him to sleep like a familiar lullaby.

 _The train rolled through the night, crossing Alabama. The beds had been folded down for sleep, but Scarlett crouched on the covers with her face pressed to the window. One small white hand clutched the velvet tasseled curtain up and out of the way. Scarlett was kneeling and the voluminous folds of her plain, heavy nightdress billowed around her hips, hiding most of her form from his eager eyes. He_ had _wanted her longer than he'd ever wanted any other woman, and he was done with waiting. Dropping his dressing gown on the seat bench, he'd bent over the bed and closed his hand around hers._

 _"It's late, my dear," he had said, pulling her hand from the curtain._

 _"Oh, but Rhett," she had started, but her voice had wobbled and faltered as he ran his hand up her arm, pushing the sleeve so he could feel her soft skin under his palm. No more waiting._

 _Scarlett's eyes were focused on his hand. He followed her gaze and marveled at the differences between them. His large, brown hand, the back sprinkled with coarse black hair, stood out starkly against pale magnolia-white skin. His hand could easily encircle her upper arm. He did just that, slipping his fingers along the tenderest, softest skin inside her bicep. His fingertips touched, and the backs of his fingers grazed the side of her breast. He could almost see her nipples tightening as the peaks became visible under the bosom of her nightdress._

 _Suddenly she had turned away, back to the window, and her voice trembled. "It's so fascinating to see - to see all the...the farms..." she stuttered, and faltered again._

 _Rhett chuckled. "How Irish of you, my pet." He saw her shoulders stiffen but she did not rebuke him. His brows came together in a swift frown; how unlike Scarlett not to respond to the promise of a quarrel. He sat on the bed suddenly, and tugged her arm, urging her around to face him. She resisted for a moment before turning, and what he saw made his breath catch in his throat._

 _Scarlett Hamilton Kennedy Butler, on her third husband, the belle of Clayton County and the biggest flirt in Atlanta, turned her incomparable green eyes up to him, wide and anxious. She shrugged again, trying to pull her arm out of his hold._

 _"Scarlett, honey, what's the matter?" Rhett whispered, not letting her go. He wasn't sure if he expected an answer or not. She tried to toss her head and laugh, but the sound was forced and hurt his ears._

 _"Fiddle-dee-dee, Rhett..."_

 _Rhett stared at her for a moment, fighting to keep his face smooth, fighting to keep his own self hidden from her. He'd never thought -_

 _Moving quickly, he'd scooped her up into his arms and held her on his lap at the edge of the bed. She had shrieked in protest and pushed at his chest, but it was weak and half-hearted. Certainly she had shown she was capable of a much stronger fight the night he had driven up to Aunt Pitty's to cart her out of Atlanta._

 _Rhett rested his cheek on her smooth black head. "Didn't I promise you marriage to me would be fun?" She had nodded, and her thick straight hair scratched his chin. "I intend to keep that promise, my pet." He had raised a hand to run it soothingly over her hair, slid it easily from the long tresses to her slim waist. "Kissing me is fun, isn't it?"_

 _"Rhett!" she protested. "It's not - seemly..."_

 _"But it's fun," he persisted, craning his neck to look her in the face and give her a lopsided grin. It had worked, she had laughed, the lighthearted sound bearing his own heart up on clouds._

 _Before the tinkling peals had died away, he had captured her mouth with his own, captured her last soft exhale of laughter. He had bent her slowly back over his arm, urging her to part her lips and allow him entrance to her mouth; and once granted, his tongue teased hers until, with slow movements that seemed shy but were perhaps merely hesitantly unfamiliar, her own tongue had begun to respond._

 _Her slender thighs were as soft as her arms, even softer. Unlike her arms, the skin had been hot, burning the palm of his hand which trembled as it slipped under her nightdress. When his thumb grazed the crease where her thigh angled up to her hip, she had cried out, arching into him as her legs fell open..._

Rhett woke with a snap of returning consciousness. His fine bedding was soaked with sweat, the sheets twisted around his legs and tented over an almost painful erection. It would become painful, for trapped in this train car with his stepson there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He pulled his pillow over his face and groaned.

Desire for Scarlett had never been a problem. But years of heartbreak and anger had followed that memory, followed their honeymoon trip to New Orleans. Was that why he'd lighted on this idea of taking Wade? Set the boy straight, and rewrite his own life from the city that had changed everything, so many times before?

…

Wade looked at New Orleans with the same wide-eyed excitement he'd had as a seven-year-old boy; in fact, the same excitement Scarlett had shown on their honeymoon when she had been twice the age Wade was now. Wade's memories of his childhood trip were hazy, for the glow of Rhett's attention had superseded all else, and everything about the city was new.

As he had taken Bonnie everywhere, Rhett now took Wade with him in New Orleans. He took Wade to restaurants, where the boy put away quantities of food that Scarlett would have envied, and to smoky clubs, listening to conversations that ran late into the night. There were some of the old stories of renegade days, but the men Rhett saw in New Orleans had, like him, left at least the most blatant thievery behind.

Rhett saw old friends, men who had succumbed to the temptation and comfort of hearth, home, and family; who sat at desks in banks and railroad offices, who stood in elections, who worked hard to secure a place for their children in an increasingly volatile city. New Orleans was still under the thumb of Reconstruction, and these men who had once fought for nothing but personal gain now worked, as Rhett had, to throw off the shackles which had gripped them since the end of war.

Though Wade was worshipfully attentive, the imbroglios and identities that passed between Rhett and these men meant nothing to him. The name McEnery came up often, until one night Rhett had surprised him by saying harshly to the other men, "You're nothing but the damn Klan all over again. You've left the sheets on the bed and let them see your faces, but your tactics are no less brutal. If you win, you'll be struggling to hold on to power grabbed at the point of the gun. Did you fools learn nothing from war? Wade, it's time to leave."

Wade had followed his stepfather back to the hotel, but Rhett had remained gloomy and close-mouthed, no matter how many questions Wade threw at him. For the next few days, Wade and Rhett stayed in the hotel or toured the city alone, and they did not return to visit Rhett's friends.

...

"Why don't we stay here?"

After a week of indolence in the sweltering Louisiana summer, Wade broached the subject Rhett had assumed would come, the same question he had asked in Charleston. Rhett grimaced, poured himself a brandy from the decanter provided by the hotel, and took a swig before responding. There was no audience in this hotel room, no Ella to shield. It was probably time for a man-to-man conversation.

The familiar burn of the liquor settled in his belly. Rhett took a chair, the glass dangling from long his fingers.

"I think you know the answer to that, Wade."

Wade scowled but quickly tried to wipe the expression from his face.

"Did you have a good time at Tara?" Rhett asked, and Wade's brow wrinkled with the confusion Rhett had expected from his apparent change of subject.

"Yes, sir."

Rhett took a sip and nodded, carefully crafting a thoughtful expression.

"You get along well with Mr. Benteen." Wade brightened. "Why is that?" Rhett mused.

"Sir, Uncle Will treats me like a man," Wade answered, throwing his shoulders back as his chest expanded pridefully.

"Ah, is that so? And you think you deserve to be treated like a man?"

Wade nodded, but Rhett could see the wary look in his eyes. Good; the boy wasn't stupid. He had picked up that there was more to this conversation than the words being spoken aloud. "Do you?" Rhett prompted.

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm." Rhett drained his drink and set it down. Rising to his feet, he went into his bedroom, leaving a bewildered Wade to call out in the suddenly empty room.

"Uncle Rhett?"

From the hotel bureau, Rhett took a shallow walnut box with an ivory inlaid lid. He set the finely crafted piece on the bureau top and, opening it, removed two pistols with ivory handles that matched their case; twins to the pair the Yankees had somehow "misplaced" during his imprisonment. One corner of his mouth twisted down; he had managed to hang on to those pistols, ill-suited though they were for war, for months, only for Yankee greed to get the better of him.

Affecting a casual stroll, Rhett returned to the sitting room. Wade's head was craned toward the bedroom door, watching with avid curiosity. Coming to the center of the seating area, Rhett laid the pistols down on a low table in front of Wade. Rhett took a seat across from him. The boy's eyes went wide.

"Wade, if you are a man, and you believe you deserve to be treated as such, I am afraid I must call you out."

Wade laughed, but it was too high-pitched. The boy was uneasy. Rhett's voice was too serious for this to truly be a joke.

"Uncle Rhett," he tried to chortle, but his voice was strained.

"Wade Hampton Hamilton, you have insulted the honor of my wife. I merely demand satisfaction."

"Your wife? You mean - Mother?"

"That's right. My, you certainly are smart enough to be a gentleman."

"But - you can't do this."

"Honor must be satisfied, son. If you are a man, I can no longer tolerate the insults you have levied against my wife."

Wade's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, now tinged with panic.

"But I - I can't shoot."

Rhett grinned openly. His tactics might be cruel, but he couldn't deny that he was enjoying Wade's flabbergasted response.

"I am terribly sorry I have neglected your education, Wade, but as a man surely you can figure it out. If your mother can, you can."

"Mother doesn't know how to shoot!"

"Doesn't she? I happen to know better, and I would caution you against arguing the matter. I believe you are already in enough trouble."

"But—"

"Do you accept the challenge, Wade?"

"I can't!" Wade cried, his voice cracking.

"Hmm," Rhett said. He stroked his mustache, as if absently pondering how to proceed. "Well, something must be done. As a gentleman myself," his lip twisted in a sardonic smile that Wade couldn't interpret, "I simply can not allow another man to mistreat and disrespect my wife such as you have done. Of course, you understand."

"But I don't!" Wade yelped.

"You don't?"

"No!"

Rhett leaned forward over the table and bent a serious face to Wade. "You don't understand that you have been rude, disrespectful, and downright cruel to your mother for months?"

"I..."

"Yes, Wade? You don't understand that?"

"I..." Wade tried again, but was still unable to complete the sentence.

"Permit me," Rhett said graciously. "I believe you do understand. I may have confused you with this little charade, but when we get right down to the crux of the matter, you know perfectly well that you have behaved exactly as I have described. Isn't that right? Wade?"

"Yes, sir," Wade mumbled, hanging his head.

"Look at me, Wade. I may not be calling you out, but I am deadly serious. You are not a man, son. You have not behaved like a gentleman. You have been cold to your mother, outright disrespectful. You have insulted her in my presence, if not in hers - unless you have?" The flush climbing Wade's cheeks answered that. "Ah," Rhett said silkily. "So you have. So, Wade, what should we do about this? If you can't shoot, we must find another course of action."

"Why!" Wade burst out. "Why do you care! You're gone for months at a time, you aren't there. You - well why do I have to be nice to her when no one else does!"

Rhett clenched his fists on the edge of the table so he wouldn't clap them around Wade's arms.

"Perhaps we should have that duel after all, my boy, only you should be calling me out."

"What?"

"You are right. We have both treated your mother poorly."

"She deserve—"

"No. Stop right there, Wade Hampton. Do you know what your mother deserves? Do you know who kept you fed and clothed when there was nothing to eat, no money, no help? Who drove the wagon that saved you - and your Aunt Melly - before Sherman marched into Atlanta and burned it down around their ears? Who married a man just to make sure you would have a roof over your head, and food in your belly, with no thought to her own self?"

Well - Wade didn't need to know the whole truth. Although come to think of it, now that he had spent an extended period of time with Suellen O'Hara Benteen, Rhett would not be surprised if more of that story than Scarlett had ever wanted her children to know might not have reached their ears.

"You said your mother can't shoot. Well she might shoot me for telling you this, but she shot a man at Tara when you were barely more than a baby. She shot a Yankee who came to the house, where she was alone with your sick and weak aunt, and shot that man so he couldn't hurt her sister-in-law, or your cousin, or you. Tell me again what your mother deserves, Wade."

"My sword..." he mumbled.

"Speak up."

"When - when the Yankees came, they tried to take my sword. My father's sword. And she - she stopped them. Because I cried out. She made them give it back."

Rhett stared at his stepson. That was a story he had not heard. For a moment, he could see her, too thin, freckled by the sun that beat overhead while she worked the cotton fields. Barely more than a child herself, with a baby clinging to her skirts. And still she had stood up to the invading army.

He wasn't sure he would ever forgive himself for abandoning her on the dark road outside Atlanta, but she managed to prove over and over again that she could and would overcome anything man or God threw at her.

She would overcome him, too, and he seemed damned determined to give her the time to figure that out.

"So tell me again, Wade," Rhett said softly.

"But she didn't care for me!" Wade cried, his bitterness not yet expended. "Only Aunt Melly ever cared for us."

"And the story you just told me, those are the actions of a woman who doesn't care for you?"

Wade crossed his arms over his chest and slumped against the back of the sofa, glaring at Rhett.

"I am not going to tell you that your mother is an angelic paragon of motherly virtue. Even your Aunt Melly, who loved Scarlett more than anyone, wouldn't be able to agree with that. And you should be grateful that you had an Aunt Melly. She was a very great lady. But your mother is her own woman. And she loves you very much, though her way of showing it is a bit more restrained - standing up to and shooting Yankees notwithstanding. I think you used to understand this. I always thought you loved your mother very much."

Wade shrugged.

"Do you remember the day Bonnie was born?"

"Y-yes," Wade said reluctantly, eyeing his stepfather cautiously. He had been more than old enough to take in the events - the words - that had upended the Butlers' marriage in the wake of their daughter's death, and his stepfather's subsequent degeneration.

"We sent you and Ella to the Wilkes' house. But you weren't content to stay there with your Aunt; no, you came sneaking home because you were afraid for Scarlett. Do you remember that?"

Wade shrugged.

"What changed, Wade?" Rhett asked gently.

"She made you leave!" Wade cried, uncrossing his arms with a violent fling.

Although Rhett had expected that, he winced.

"No," he said. "I made my own choice. Your mother asked me not to go."

"So?" Wade snorted, crossing his arms again. "She drove you away and then changed her mind."

"Wade, I'm going to be honest with you, too honest, and I hope you don't give me cause to regret it. I loved your mother the first time I saw her, but I never told her. I hid my love behind words that were teasing or downright cruel, and the longer I waited for her to love me, the crueler I became. I'm not absolving Scarlett; we both said too many things that should not have been said. But your mother did not drive me away. I chose my own path."

Wade took a heaving, angry breath, which broke up into a ragged sob on the exhale. Then he was crying, and swiping at his face with his hands, his cheeks red with the shame of crying in front of Uncle Rhett. But Rhett simply moved next to him on the couch and held him against his chest like he was a little boy again, crying over a broken toy.

"I miss Aunty," Wade hiccoughed. Rhett understood. He might try to mend the fences between his wife and stepson, but there was no replacement for the tender affectionate presence of Melanie Wilkes in their lives. Such open warmth would never come naturally or easily to Scarlett. For all that her patience and understanding seemed improved, she was simply a much different person, and much harder to love than gentle Melanie. Still—

"I miss her, too."


	17. Chapter 17

_Atlanta, Georgia, August, 1874_

Ella sniffled throughout the ride home, and clung to Scarlett so that she almost stumbled on the treacherous hall staircase because of her daughter's clutching hands.

"Enough!" Scarlett barked. Ella flinched. "Ella, go - go help Prissy. You have a lot of new things to put away."

As Ella morosely dragged her feet up the stairs, Scarlett ducked instead into her office. The office was as neat and tidy as she'd left it, of course - and empty of work to occupy her mind. She sat behind her desk and rested her elbows on the soft blotter, her head dropping into her cupped hands.

No promises. No sentiment. One week at Tara that already, less than 24 hours later, seemed too much like a dream. One week as husband and wife, with more intimacy and tenderness in that week than in the entirety of their marriage up to that point. But no words of love from Rhett, and his reticence had silenced her own. Her mind and heart whirled. For one week, nearly everything she had been wanting. It seemed it had all happened so fast. What if Rhett had been disappointed? Did he regret it? Would he decide she wasn't worth it?

Scarlett was alone in Atlanta again, and it was difficult to feel that anything had changed. Rhett said he would come back, but after all, what was different about that? He'd come back in December, in April, in June; would she see him before Christmas? Would he merely come through to return her son, and leave again for Charleston or points unknown? Would he put an ocean between them?

She wouldn't regret it. At least she had had one week, that one chance to show him how much better everything could be. One week of good memories. They would not erase the bad, but they would be better company for her than endless circles of regret. If he did not come back. If he did, and wouldn't stay, the end result would be the same. She had meant what she said: this endless track of self-recrimination, doubt, and waiting, would not be borne. She would rather give him up than be caught like this.

It was still early, and she had soundly scared off Ella, so Scarlett drove herself downtown to the store. She had hoped to surprise Hugh and the counter boys, to see how things were really run in her absence, but she was strangely disappointed by the evidence of their competency. The floors were swept clean, the stock in order, the books up to date. That everyone had done a fine job while she was gone was no balm to her agitated state. It only stoked her irritation while failing to provide her with an outlet for her increasingly foul temper.

Being home was no better. Scarlett stalked through the empty rooms of her showplace mansion, her shoulders postured aggressively forward and nostrils flaring. She swiped fingertips along sideboards and the curving wooden backs of chairs and couches, nearly pressed her nose to silver and crystal, and eventually corralled Pork to lower every chandelier for her personal inspection. Yet instead of expending her aggravated energy, the knot of tension only wound itself tighter and tighter.

Ella was too easy a target. Flighty, bubbly, nearly incapable of sitting still, her hand knocked her water glass into her lap before Scarlett had taken a bite.

"Ella! How many times do you have to be told to be careful at the table?"

"Sorry, Mother," the red-faced little girl mumbled while Pork refilled her glass. With her peculiar mental mix of inattention and resiliency, Ella quickly brightened and lit on a new topic. "Uncle Rhett let me drink wine!"

"He what?" Scarlett asked, choking on her own glass of wine.

"Oh, yes, Mother. He said I could be a little lady. Only, mine didn't look like that," Ella gestured at her mother's glass. "It was all...pink. Like a sunset."

"A sunset?" Scarlett puzzled, failing to understand.

"Yes," Ella answered dreamily. "Oh Mother, may I?"

"So you can spill something that stains? No. Sit up, Ella. You have a fresh glass of water."

Ella's lips pursed and she ducked her chin against her chest. She picked at her plate while Scarlett ate in silence.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk—

"Ella! Stop kicking your heels!"

Ella's knees poked out over the top of the table.

"Ella - sit like a lady, please," Scarlett admonished through clenched teeth. The knees disappeared.  
Scarlett returned her attention to her plate, relishing the stab of the fork into every bite. They ate in silence again until a loud crash broke the quiet.

"God's nightgown!" Scarlett roared, until her mind caught up to her mouth. "Ella? Ella!"

Ella's chair had tipped over backwards, dumping the little girl on the floor, flat on her back. Scarlett pushed her own chair out of the way and dropped to her daughter's side. Pork stepped agitatedly from the corner where he had been hovering over the supper service, wringing his hands.

"Lawd, Miss Scarlett, is Lil Miss all right?"

"Ella?" Scarlett asked more gently, touching cool fingertips to her daughter's temples. Ella blinked up at her, wide eyed and open mouthed.

"Oh. Mother! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!" She cried before breaking into tears.

Relief flooded Scarlett like a cool wave, dousing her overheated temper. "Go get Dr. Meade, Pork," she ordered in a level voice. "Go yourself. Don't you dare send Prissy or we'll be waiting here all night." Pork hustled from the room.

"Now, Ella," Scarlett said, pressing her hands to the girl's small shoulders. "Don't sit up. Let's stay here until the doctor can come see you, all right?" Ella made a small nod. Scarlett looked around at the upended chair and her lips thinned, annoyance not entirely banished by the momentary fright. "What happened, precious?" she asked with a mix of sincere concern and falsified sweetness.

"I tipped."

"Yes, I can see that, Ella. Chairs don't just tip over."

"Oh. I leaned it backwards."

Scarlett gritted her teeth.

"Can't you just _sit_ at the table, Ella?" _Ever?_

"I'm sorry," Ella whispered. Her expressive hazel eyes filled with fresh tears.

Scarlett sighed and dropped from her crouch to sit flat on the floor, curling her legs beneath herself. "I'm sure you are."

"Do I have to stay here?"

"Please, Ella."

"How long?"

"Until Dr. Meade can come."

"How long is that?"

"I don't know."

"Oh."

"Mother?"

Scarlett grit her teeth and resisted the urge to bang the back of her head against the dining room wall. "Yes."

"Will you tell me a story?"

Scarlett sighed and, idly running a hand over Ella's soft plaited hair, began a story she must have begun a dozen times in years past, knowing Ella would interrupt and lose the thread of it almost as soon as she started to talk.

"When are Wade and Uncle Rhett coming home?" Scarlett gave an involuntary start. Although an interruption was expected, Ella usually at least started with a question relating to her story, before skittering from topic to topic driven by connections only she saw. How Rhett could keep putting her in this awkward position with her children!

 _He'll come home when he knows what he wants_ , she thought bitterly, with a sharply painful stab of longing, that what he wanted might again include her.

"Didn't he tell you he'd be home before the start of the school year?"

"I forgot."

"That's only a few weeks."

"That's good."

"Yes, it is, precious."

The sound of the front door opening came through clearly to the dining room, followed swiftly by Dr. Meade with Pork at his heels, the old butler still wringing his hands. The doctor knelt opposite Scarlett.

"I heard you took a tumble, Miss Ella," he said with gentle gruffness.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Meade," she mumbled shyly.

"Nonsense, missy." His wrinkled hands prodded at Ella's head, neck, and collarbone. "Does anything hurt?"

"No, Dr. Meade. I'm only lying here because Mother wouldn't let me move until you came."

"Well, good for your mother," he replied, shooting a look at Scarlett that clearly said this bit of maternal wisdom was utterly unexpected and somehow not to be trusted. Scarlett's chest swelled with a large, indignant gulp of air, an expression Rhett would have related to an angry bullfrog. "Miss Ella," Dr. Meade said before Scarlett could uncoil her tongue to release her temper, "I believe you are quite all right. You might have a few bumps from the floor, but you don't have to lay on it any longer."

Ella wiggled to a sitting position. Scarlett pressed a hand to her collarbone, drooping slightly with relief.

"Go on and get Prissy, Ella. You should get ready for bed while I speak with Dr. Meade."

After everyone had leveraged themselves up from the floor with varying degrees of ease, Ella bobbed an enthusiastic curtsy. "Good night Dr. Meade." Unexpectedly, she wrapped her arms around Scarlett's waist and pressed her head against her mother's arm. "Good night, Mother."

Scarlett briefly cupped Ella's shoulder, then gently disengaged her and shooed her upstairs. Scarlett turned back to the doctor.

"She's really all right, Dr. Meade?"

"It was just a little bump on the head, Scarlett. I can understand why you were concerned but all children do fall from time to time. It wasn't a bad idea not to move her, but I'm quite sure she's just fine. Where's Wade Hampton tonight?" Dr. Meade asked lightly as he took his bag off the dining room table. It would be a rough night for the old man if he turned up at home with no information to satisfy Mrs. Meade's curiosity.

Scarlett laughed with forced levity, a brittle chime that was not reflected in her eyes.

"Oh, Rhett took him to New Orleans. Just a little trip, man to man I suppose."

"Haven't seen Captain Butler in some time, if you'll forgive my saying so."

Scarlett's hand fisted in the folds of her skirt. "We've been at Tara," she said curtly, nodding at Pork to open the front door.

"Were you and Captain Butler there all summer?"

 _He dared!_ Scarlett jerked her chin more sharply in Pork's direction, and the faithful servant opened the door fully and stepped forward to offer Dr. Meade his tall beaver hat.

"Captain Butler also took the children to Philadelphia," she said coolly. "Thank you again, Doctor."

"Yes, yes. Goodnight—" he had hardly finished speaking when Scarlett stepped forward to shut the door behind him herself.

"And I hope Mrs. Meade is satisfied," she muttered crossly.

"Miss Scarlett?" asked the bewildered Pork.

"Thank you, Pork," she said, irritation relaxing to genuine affection as she turned her attention to him. "You brought the doctor very quickly."

"Yes'm," he said proudly.

"Good night, Pork."

"'Night, Miss Scarlett."

For the first time since Rhett had slept next to her in her old bedroom at Tara, her nightmare returned. The warming memory of Rhett, the furnace of his body beside her in bed, the strength of his arms and the solidity of his broad chest, were so much flotsam, disintegrating in chilly fog, shredding behind her as she ran through the bleak and empty world. For Rhett was gone, again and again, and though she searched for him and called his name until her throat was sore, the mist had swallowed him whole.

The country vitality and energy faded quickly under a relentless nightly onslaught. With resigned determination, Scarlett went about her business in Atlanta. The store held few charms for her, and she thought wistfully of the lost mills. At least Ashley's poor management had given her something to do! Somehow in the last year, the ease of earning money had lost its charm. Buffeted by Rhett's comings and goings, his extended absences, something else had taken central importance in her life. It was true, she didn't need the money. She hadn't for years, but she had been too blind to see it, blinded by her fear and Rhett's cold distance. She had never known there might be something else for her. It had been easy to think, the night he had left, that she wouldn't mind being poor if he would have only stayed. Then the Panic had shaken her anew and it wasn't until she had emerged from that storm into the truth of the empty world, had she been able to know it was true.

Her business hardly needed her, but she needed Rhett. He laughed at the world and encouraged her to laugh with him, entertained her with his stories and fired her temper with his barbs, made her blood run hot in a way no one else ever could, because they were alike, both of them reckless souls laughing into the wind. Rhett, whose strong arms supported and protected her, whose broad chest gave her strength and comfort; only Rhett who could pull her out of the dark nightmare world and back into the light of living. Even his cold mockery added more luster to the world than money had ever done. She needed him to come home.

No word arrived from Rhett, and Scarlett did not know if she should expect to hear from him or not. Perhaps he would just show up at the front door without warning. He had done it before. They had so few visitors, and every knock made her palms sweat. Pittypat came to call, but never stayed long. She had never been entirely at ease in Scarlett's company, and Wade Hampton was out of town. Scarlett's truce with the Old Guard of Atlanta meant they tolerated her presence, even during their at-home hours, as long as she did not come too frequently or stay too long. The talisman of Melanie's memory would not last forever. It was impossible to say how long they might continue to welcome her.

One afternoon, when she had banished Ella to the yard despite the oppressive late summer air after the girl had knocked over the hall table not just once, or twice, but four times as she rushed from room to room, and Scarlett's ensuing headache had caused her to set aside the store inventory and catalogs she had been working through, Pork came to see her in the parlor.

"Miss Scarlett, dere's a Mrs. Bonnell hyah to see you."

 _What?_ she almost cried out, but swallowed the surprised exclamation and raised her head sharply to look at the old butler. "Of course, Pork," she managed, rising to her feet. "Show her in."

Scarlett brushed down her skirts and automatically raised fingertips to smooth over her brow to her temples, then pat needlessly at her hairstyle. Her dark, navy dress was plain by her usual taste, with cream ruffles that cascaded off the bustle and matching bows that decoratively appeared to hold up the apron in front. A tasteful cream lace trim heightened the square neckline, which was otherwise cut low across her bosom. Every day she took more care with her appearance, choosing frocks that would flatter her figure - and appeal to her errant husband, should he ever come home. Now she was pleased to have made the effort, to be putting her best foot - or best frock - forward. She didn't know why Sarah Bonnell was calling, but at least in appropriate dress the lady would have one less tale to tell about her.

"Scarlett," Sarah Bonnell greeted her warmly, walking into the parlor with hands outstretched. Scarlett took them in her own, confusion warming her cheeks. Sarah kissed her cheek. It was no more than a polite gesture, but Scarlett was unaccustomed to such warmth, most of all from another woman.

"Wade isn't home," she blurted, not understanding this visit or Sarah's actions, and feeling cross over her confusion.

"I know. I've not brought Frank. I just came to visit with you."

 _With me?_ Scarlett thought, but didn't say.

"Of course," she said, pulling the old self-confidence of the belle of five counties around her like battle armor. She found her most charming smile. "Do sit down, Mrs. - Sarah. Should I have Pork bring refreshments? It is such a hot day, perhaps some lemonade—"

"That would be lovely, Scarlett, thank you," Sarah murmured as she took a seat. Over her head, Scarlett's eyes flashed at Pork, hovering in the doorway, and she flicked her hand to send him off.

"You must miss him very much," Sarah continued as Scarlett retook her own seat. A round table with elaborately carved edge and legs was positioned between them.

"Miss him?" Scarlett nearly stammered, her mind going instantly to Rhett. Was this why Sarah Bonnell was here - the scouting party, trying to pick up more gossip on the state of her marriage?

"I can only imagine how I would feel if Frank were gone. Of course he wants to go away to college, but I simply don't know how I'll bear it."

Oh - miss Wade. Did she? For most of his life, he had been little more than a nuisance to her. For the last year, he'd been an antagonist, angry and defiant at every turn. And yet - he was her boy. Her only son. Even when he provoked her, she had felt that flare of pride that he had started to show some backbone. She remembered his sweet baby face, and the reluctant tenderness she had been able to feel when he was asleep, remembered the fear she'd felt for him at Tara and the driving need to take care of him. Yes, after all, he was her son.

"I do miss him," she said, hesitantly. It felt strange to say the words. "He - he wants to go away to college, too." Her nose wrinkled. "He wants to go to Harvard, like his father."

"Oh, did Charles Hamilton go to Harvard? Hmmm I didn't know that. Well, it's only natural for a boy to want to be like his father."

Or his stepfather, Scarlett thought, gritting her teeth. "I'd rather he stay in Georgia."

Sarah Bonnell smiled understandingly. "Of course you do. It would be so much harder if he went so far away."

The thought of Wade at a Yankee school, in a Yankee state - if he went so far, who would he be when he came back? What if he didn't come back at all?

Pork returned, balancing a tray with two large glasses of lemonade and a pitcher between them. All three were starred with drops of condensation. After he set the tray down, Scarlett picked up the glass nearest her and clutched it like a lifeline. It was wet and cold, slick in her palm.

"We haven't seen you in Atlanta in ages, it seems," Sarah was saying. Scarlett tensed, waiting for the blow. "Do forgive me for crediting the gossip, but - were you at Tara?"

"Yes," Scarlett said tersely, and sipped the lemonade.

"Oh!" Sarah sighed. "It must be just lovely this time of year."

Scarlett eyed her warily. When would she ask about Rhett? This must all be an elaborate diversion, to get Scarlett to lower her defenses before Sarah picked over her bones.

"Yes, it is."

"You must tell me all about it," Sarah said, briefly touching a cool hand to Scarlett's bare wrist.  
Scarlett was suspicious, but Sarah Bonnell proved to be such an interested audience that she had soon described the house, the grounds, the breeze off the river, the smell of the flowers and the shade from the trees and the particular bright green of the clover in the yard. Sarah's questions were so warm and open, Scarlett couldn't find the double edge of them and found herself drawn into relaxed conversation, recounting without second-guessing every word stories of Ella and Wade learning to swim, climbing trees and fences, and the week spent with Rhett. It did not even occur to her to be circumspect about her husband's presence. For one mortifying moment, she slipped and mentioned her own participation in the climbing, but Sarah Bonnell only laughed warmly, clapped her hands together, and said, "Oh, Scarlett, did you really? How wonderful that must have been!"

The room had started to turn dark as the sun dipped beyond its ability to cast light into the porch-shaded windows when Ella suddenly turned up in the doorway. Scarlett looked at her, aghast. Ella was covered nearly head to toe in red dirt. "Ella!" Scarlett cried, sharply, then with a sideways glance at Sarah, bit her lip.

Sarah Bonnell laughed. "I had better take my leave, I think. Dear me, I hadn't realized how late it is." The ladies both rose, and Sarah kissed Scarlett's cheek again. "It seems you have your hands full even without Wade," she murmured, nodding her head towards the sheepish Ella, still twisting her feet in the doorway. They walked towards the door, and Scarlett cast a stern look at her daughter. Ella interpreted it correctly, or luckily, and bobbed a quick curtsy. Dirt showered on the carpet when she moved.

With her bonnet and gloves in place, Sarah let Scarlett show her out. Sarah squeezed her hostess' hand warmly. "You must come calling sometime, Scarlett. Promise me you will."

"Yes - I will," Scarlett replied, stiff with formality concealing her incredulity.

When the door had closed behind her unexpected guest, Scarlett turned back to her daughter. For some reason, Ella tried another curtsy. Scarlett shut her eyes for a moment, then without opening them yelled for Prissy. The house was silent as they waited for the servant girl.

"Mother?" Ella asked, her voice quavering slightly.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I got dirty," Ella said. Scarlett opened her eyes to see that, despite her contrite tone, Ella's chin was thrust mulishly forward and as square as her Irish grandfather's. "You told me to go outside." Unexpectedly, Scarlett laughed.

"Let's go back to the kitchen. You can't track that dirt all the way upstairs. Prissy can fetch your clothes and you can have your bath down here."

Ella reached out a hand to her mother, but Scarlett brushed past her. "Let's get you washed up," she said over her shoulder.

Ella sighed. At least she hadn't been yelled at. She followed her mother back to the kitchens.

...

In the last week of August, a telegram arrived from New Orleans. "We are coming home. Thurs 27, afternoon train."

The impersonal type blurred, and the words that echoed in her soul were from another time. They had belonged to another man, and another woman, but now they were her own. _Beloved, I am coming home to you._

Scarlett shook her shoulders and tossed the scrap of paper on the hall tray. She was being a silly girl over a note as empty of deeper meaning as the columns in her ledger books. Panic gripped her again. "We are coming home." Did that mean Atlanta was his home, or was she still merely a way station on his way out into the world? She tugged her bonnet too firmly, and felt the careful arrangement of her hair sliding against her scalp. With a huff, she went out to her waiting buggy. The world still had to turn, whether Rhett Butler's compass led her way or not.

Scarlett debated whether or not she should tell Ella that her stepfather and brother would be returning to Atlanta. In the end, she decided that if anyone should have to deal with the question of whether that meant her stepfather was staying, a question almost guaranteed to come up, it should be Rhett himself. Let him explain himself to the children who looked to him as a father, and often seemed to idolized him to boot. Ella would be thrilled with the surprise and Scarlett wouldn't have to deal with questions she couldn't answer.

Thus for two days, Ella received a more-than-usual share of the sharp edge of Scarlett's temper, for the pending and uncertain arrival pricked her like a bed of nails. Ella bore it with her usual pluck. Unlike Wade, who had been timid and frightened of her temper - _had_ been - it never seemed to land more than a glancing blow to Ella's psyche. Her flighty attention span and inability to settle seemed to make her more resilient to the vagaries of Scarlett's temper. Ella also saw something Wade had never known, when she curled up in her mother's bed late at night, soothing them both from nightmares. It happened infrequently now, but at those times, Mother was warm and kind, never cross, and those moments strengthened Ella.

The morning of Rhett's return, Scarlett woke with Ella snuggled up against her front, her sweet breath ruffling the lace collar on Scarlett's nightdress. Scarlett smoothed the red curls that had come loose in the night. How odd that years after her first, abortive effort to get to know her eldest children, Ella had attached herself to her mother of her own volition. Scarlett sighed and rolled away from her daughter, staring up at the ceiling. No one, least of all Scarlett herself, could fill the emptiness Melly's death had left in their lives. All their lives.

Scarlett slid free the arm that had been lightly trapped underneath Ella, and pushed back the covers tangled around her legs so that she could roll over and out of the bed in one smooth motion. Tying a wrapper around her waist, she rang the bell pull and slipped out into the hall to wait for Hattie. Her maid's eyes widened with some surprise to find Scarlett waiting in the hall. Scarlett sent her back downstairs with whispered instructions to return with coffee, and Prissy.

Slipping quietly back into the bedroom, Scarlett sat at her vanity table and lit the spirit burner, carefully balancing the curling iron on the unfolded brackets so the flame could heat the barrel. She was still seated at her vanity, idly pushing the pots and bottles and brushes that had been scattered across the lace-draped surface into orderly rows, when Hattie returned as requested. Prissy shooed the half-asleep Ella from the room as Scarlett took a bracing sip of coffee.

"That new satin brocade, Hattie, please," she murmured, picking up the silver-backed hairbrush and starting to run it through her heavy black hair. The new dress was apple-green to match her eyes, pale but strong; it had always been her best color. The square neckline ran low across her chest, with no modest lace trim, though the flowing lace cuffs on the elbow-length sleeves would flutter prettily against her arms. After she was laced and buttoned, she grit her teeth and let Hattie fix her hair so that it was looped and piled on her head, with a thick bunch trailing behind to be curled. Scarlett's black hair was so thick, so stubbornly straight, that it quite resisted curling and required a delicate balancing act to get it to curl before it burned. Thank God for Hattie, who had more common sense and better judgement than Prissy. She hated to trust Prissy with the hot tongs on her hair.

Scarlett took the closed carriage to the store instead of driving herself, and did her best to distract herself with work but the morning passed at a lethargic crawl. She went home to take dinner with Ella. Her narrowed eyes watched Ella eat, even as she hardly touched her own food. When Ella asked to be excused, she acted.

"Ella, would you like Mother to come play with you?" Ella gaped at her. "Ella, close your mouth, you look like a fish," Scarlett snapped. Ella's lips smacked together. Scarlett sweetened her tone. "Why don't you show me your dolls?"

As Ella led her upstairs, her soft little hand wrapped almost painfully tightly around Scarlett's fingers, Scarlett felt a triumphant thrill in her breast. Rhett - and Wade - would arrive home shortly - hopefully not too long from now, hopefully the train would be on time and she wouldn't have to pretend interest in Ella's prattle for too long - and what a charming picture they would make! Her own hand squeezed Ella's reflexively. A charming, graceful, peaceful picture.

Scarlett perched on the edge of the old, threadbare chair, and made a mental note to replace it. She let Ella parade doll after doll to her, each with different color hair or dress but they all blended together for Scarlett, who hadn't even played with dolls as a child herself. Some of them, with their staring eyes, sent a chill along her spine. She sat uneasily on the edge of the chair, half listening to Ella, half tuned to hear the sound of the front door. They should be home - at any time—

"We should have tea," Ella declared suddenly. Scarlett blinked.

"Ella, you just had dinner!"

"But Miss Sarah wants tea." Scarlett looked at the brown-haired doll wrapped in Ella's embrace.

Bemused, Scarlett watched as Ella carefully set out places from the doll-size china tea set she recognized as a present from Rhett the previous Christmas. Well, she had wanted to paint a picture for Rhett - if only he would walk in the door.

Unsure how to proceed, Scarlett imitated Ella, taking a sip of the empty air from the cup in front of her. Ella, beaming, began a steady stream of chatter on how delightful the "tea" was, how pleasant the company, how well Miss Sarah looked, all the little habits of small talk she had gleaned from adult conversations. Scarlett's attention slipped away by the minute until her eyes were trained on the nursery door, Ella's voice barely registering to her ears.

And then the doorway was no longer empty, but filled frame to frame by the bulk of Rhett's shoulders, and his dark eyes twinkled when she met them. How could such a big man always move so soundlessly! She drank him in. He was wearing grey trousers and coat, a crisp white shirt and black cravat, and a fine herringbone silk waistcoat. She jerked her head down to the little tea party and set her cup down with a clatter. Rhett's low chuckle boomed in her sensitive ears. Ella reacted immediately, springing from the table, turning, and barely pausing long enough to recognize her stepfather before racing across the nursery floor to throw herself at his chest.

Rhett caught her in a bear hug then shifted her to one hip.

"She's getting too big to be held like that," Scarlett muttered, biting her lip crossly. How quickly he could put her out of sorts! Now he was here, he had caught her watching for him, he would know her pretty picture for what it was - an empty tableau.

"Nonsense," Rhett returned smoothly. "She's still light as a feather." Ella giggled. "But this is only half a welcome. Aren't you going to greet me, my dear?" Scarlett scowled at him. Rhett's smile broadened and he ducked his head down to Ella's.

"Did you put something in her tea, Ella? Such a sour face. Too much lemon, perhaps?" Ella shook her head.

"No, Uncle Rhett."

"Not enough sugar, then. Well, as luck would have it—" With his free hand, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, dark purple box with a golden bow. "I have the perfect treat for a tea party. And perhaps, if we are lucky, it will sweeten your mother's disposition, as well." Ella continued to giggle as Rhett placed her gently back on her feet. "Why don't you set a place for me, Ella, and I'll show you what I've brought."

Soon Rhett was sitting on the floor by the low child's tea table, one knee bent up and the other leg so long that the toe of his shoe peeked out next to the doll across from him. Scarlett was a head above him, a rare position of power, seated on the adult chair at the foot of the table. Ella had returned to her seat at the child-sized chair that matched the small table. Rhett's eyes twinkled as he undid the gold ribbon and took the lid off the box, revealing bonbons closely packed in paper lace. Scarlett felt a chill before hot blood rushed to her cheeks, remembering the bonbons he used to bring her during the war. Remembering unexpectedly a forgotten wager - _a box of bonbons against a kiss_. She licked her lips involuntarily, and when she looked up, she saw Rhett's eyes on her - not on her eyes, but on her mouth. The breath caught in her throat and suddenly it burned with the urge to question him. What was he playing at? Was he staying? Suddenly she frowned.

"Where's Wade?"

Rhett's attention immediately returned to her eyes. "We saw Henry Hamilton downtown. He missed his nephew, he said, and invited Wade to join him for dinner. I didn't see why not." Rhett chuckled. "Were you afraid I'd spirited your son away and neglected to return him to you?"

"Of course not," she scoffed. Rhett bared his teeth, but she could not call it a smile. It did not touch his eyes.

"Yes, you were. No matter. Here, Ella, try a candy." Rhett nudged the box towards his stepdaughter, who eagerly snatched a piece, a pretty lavender candy pressed in the shape of a leaf. Instead of popping it in her mouth, she held it between thumb and forefinger while she sucked.

"Ella, you'll get your ha—" Scarlett began, but Rhett took advantage of the open-mouthed 'a' to pop a butterscotch in her mouth. "Mmph," she finished, and glared at him. Rhett winked. She was bizarrely tempted to stick her tongue out at him, but the candy in her mouth precluded that. She narrowed her eyes instead.

Ella leaned her elbows on the table, still holding the candy. Scarlett was sure she could see the girl's fingertips already turning purple with sticky sugar. Rhett sprawled, his languid grace more appropriate to a Roman banquet than imaginary tea at a small child's table. With one hand, he held his empty teacup, manipulating it in slow circles on his palm. He casually stretched the other long arm along the table, and rested just one fingertip on the back of Scarlett's hand. That spot of skin, no larger than a penny, seemed to burn under his casual touch. In his slow, drawling voice he told Ella about the sights of New Orleans, the food, the pretty flowers, the funny people. _We should give her more candy,_ Scarlett thought testily. _She doesn't interrupt with a sweet in her mouth._ She felt flushed and irritated as Rhett's finger made a slow circle around the back of her hand, but she didn't dare to move. She turned the butterscotch over on her tongue.

Scarlett shifted restlessly. She didn't know how Rhett could stand to be cramped under that tiny table for so long. Her own perch, full size but old and worn, was becoming uncomfortable. How long did he mean to continue this little party? She swallowed the last little sliver of butterscotch and interrupted Rhett's monologue to mutter, "I have work to do."

With lazy slowness, Rhett turned his head and raised one black eyebrow. "Are we keeping you, pet?" He tapped her hand softly in emphasis.

It was too much. _He_ was too much. She rose jerkily to her feet. "I have work to do," she repeated, and frowned at herself for it. "I'll be in my office." She hurried to the door, stepped one foot onto the hall carpet and halted abruptly. With one hand resting lightly on the door frame, she turned her head slightly, offering her profile to the pair still seated around the small table. "I'm - I'm glad you are home," she offered, but turned away again and was down the hall before Rhett had a chance to respond in kind, or otherwise.

…

 _I am at Disney World and almost forgot to post! Today I was in Hollywood Studios enjoying the glimpses of GWTW during the Great Movie Ride, and I spotted a picture of Vivien Leigh on the mansion staircase, in the wrapper she wears when Rhett and Bonnie come home, tucked way up in the corner of a shop. I stopped in the middle of the park when I heard the movie theme. Surrounded by Disney and I just want to stream GWTW on Flixster!_

 _For Scarlett's dress in this chapter, try Googling_ _1870's Blue Brocade Dress and look for the one at extantgowns dot com._


	18. Chapter 18

_Atlanta, Georgia, August, 1874_

Rhett turned a sticky-fingered Ella over to Prissy when Henry Hamilton stopped by to bring Wade home. After half a dozen hard candies, a sampling of nearly every flavor, her hands were a rainbow of sugar, and her pinafore was hardly better.

Wade had immediately sequestered himself in his bedroom, ostensibly to put away the new things that he had accumulated in Philadelphia and New Orleans. The men shut themselves up in the library, and were soon wreathed in tobacco smoke.

"Haven't seen you in Atlanta for quite some time, Rhett," Henry observed cordially after a draw of the excellent tobacco.

Rhett brushed his hand airily through the smoke in a vague gesture. "I've been occupied elsewhere. Business that I'd been neglecting."

Henry's shrewd eyes were skeptical. "Scarlett may be just my niece by marriage, and a brief one at that, but I've always felt rather fond of her. She's not given to flightiness and vapors like most women." Henry snorted. "My sister, for example."

Rhett blew a cloud of grey smoke. Henry went on, "I know Scarlett's made her own bed in this town, but it's been a difficult year for her."

Rhett balanced his cigar on the silver ashtray and leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees. He clasped his hands and steepled them against his chin, looking at Henry over his fingertips with hooded eyes. "Just spit it out, Henry. Neither of us have patience for this kind of obfuscation."

The old man reddened above his whiskers. He coughed. "It's not my place to say so, Rhett, but damn if somebody oughtn't. Are you planning to divorce my niece?"

Rhett's expression didn't change. "No."

Henry harrumphed. "Well. Good. Of course. But the town is talking, Rhett."

"Like carrion crows," Rhett murmured. He picked up his smoldering cigar and leaned back in the leather chair.

Henry shifted in his own chair, uncomfortable with the intimate topic. Though he had brought it up, his piece had been said, and he had no wish to pry even further into affairs that were none of his business, despite the tenuous family ties.

"Our Wade Hampton's becoming a fine young man, isn't he?" Henry asked, quickly moving the conversation into more comfortable territory.

When the cigars were useless stubs in the silver ashtray, Henry took his leave, but not before Rhett pressed upon him a small box of cigars for his own use.

"Whichever you like best, just take the ring down to the Kimball House. Moses will have it."

"Fine, Rhett, that's just fine. And thank you." Henry's handshake was firm and his eyes were steady on Rhett's, letting him know in a way more comfortable than words that the gratitude was for more than the cigars.

At the door, Rhett checked the sky, then pulled out his pocket watch to confirm. There were still a few hours before supper. He turned and looked up the staircase, his eyes gleaming. Surely plenty of time for her to get ready.

...

"Go out to supper?" Scarlett protested. "But, Rhett, Wade's just come home—"

"I just came home with him, my dear," Rhett inserted smoothly.

"Yes, of course, but I'm sure Ceceilia's already started cooking—"

"I want to take you out, Scarlett. The food here won't go to waste. Wade and Ella will eat it. I'm sure the servants would enjoy an unexpected feast as well."

Rhett lounged in the doorway to Scarlett's office, which he had pushed open without knocking. She had a tiny ink smudge on one cheekbone where she must have brushed hair out of her eyes. Half of her lower lip was pinker than the other side from the pressure of her teeth. She was biting it again in the same spot.

"But, Rhett..." she continued to protest. He held up his hand, palm open towards her.

"Can't I take my wife out to supper?" He hadn't done so since the very beginning of their marriage, notwithstanding Scarlett's little charity outing on New Year's Eve. Something flickered in the pale depths of her green eyes, and he knew she was sharing the same memories. "We can't fix the past, Scarlett," he murmured, responding to the unvoiced thoughts and unasked questions he could clearly read on her face. "But some things, we can start anew."

He watched her half-rise from the desk chair, palms flat on the table, but she caught herself and returned to the seat. The pinkened spot on her mouth stood out more sharply against suddenly white lips. She held herself very still in the chair and made no answer.

He should go to her, pull her to her feet, kiss her. Say something, promise something.

"My dear," he said, "let's go out for supper."

That evening, Rhett knocked on her bedroom door, swung it open at her bidding. Scarlett's tilted eyes gleamed briefly at him from her perch at her vanity table before she ducked her head to fiddle with some frippery. He frowned. Her _old_ vanity table. His lips curved in a mirthless smirk.

"I told Ella you wouldn't like it."

"What?" she asked, lifting her eyes from the nervous fingers twisting in her emerald skirts. One white hand fluttered up to touch the simple gold necklace that hung just below her collarbones.

"Of course I do—"

"Not the necklace, my pet," he said with a flippant chop of his hand. "The vanity."

Scarlett turned to look at the heavyset, dark walnut table, every vertical surface carved and polished. "What about my vanity?"

"Your vanity is, of course, endless," he said and Scarlett scowled at him. Despite his annoyance, he grinned. "I mean the table. The one Ella picked out in Philadelphia."

Half-turning, she pressed her palms to the smooth surface. And, he noticed, took a moment to check her face in the mirror, though she must have been sitting there for several minutes doing just that before he had knocked. "I don't know what you're talking about, Rhett. Stop teasing. I only have this table. I've always had it - I mean, always since we built this house."

 _Oh,_ we _built it_? he thought, but resisted the urge to derail the conversation for one that would be even less pleasant. "I was surprised you took to that necklace so graciously, my pet, and it meant quite a bit to Ella that you did so; but I confess this is far more in your character. Do you not even remember the table that was shipped here? We slipped in a note that Ella asked me to write for her."

Scarlett's high cheekbones were starting to color. "And just when would I have received such an item? I left for Tara the same day you took the children away."

"It should have been waiting here when you and Ella returned."

"Well it wasn't. I'm sure if Ella picked it out it would be just as lovely as this necklace," she snapped, her hand returning to the chain around her neck.

Rhett couldn't help it, he laughed. A full belly guffaw that almost bent him in half from the force of it. He raised his head, took in Scarlett's now fully reddened face, and laughed some more. His wife huffed and rose at last from the cushioned bench, her hips almost snapping as she stomped over to stand in front of him, her sharp fists planted at her waist. "Rhett Butler, if you don't stop that this very minute—" she took a breath, clearly hoping he'd interrupt before she had to think of a credible threat.

"Yes, darling?" he drawled.

"You're impossible," she muttered.

He kissed her. Still hunched from the laughter, he leaned forward just enough to press his lips gently against hers. They were warm and soft; natural, not stiff or sticky with rouge. He grinned against her mouth.

"Let's go to supper, Scarlett. Never mind the vanity - it's probably in a crate somewhere and quite forgotten. And to soothe _your_ vanity, that dress is quite becoming." He straightened and offered her his arm. She took it with a smug smile and Rhett added, "I must have picked it out."

Scarlett lifted her chin. "No, but you paid for it," she retorted.

"You never were one to spend your own money if someone else's could be had."

They were out in the hallway now, but Scarlett stopped abruptly. He turned as she slipped her arm from around his and touched his hand. He turned his palm up, and closed his fingers around her own. "What is it?"

"Rhett, please don't let's be mean tonight."

"Am I so very mean?"

"Well, yes. You make me sound like - like some kind of criminal."

"Scarlett, you know I've always enjoyed your, shall we say pragmatic as I sense dishonest may offend you right this moment - your pragmatic approach to money."

"I know you supported me when everyone else was scandalized. You always were the only person I could talk to about my businesses. But..."

"What is it, honey?"

"Your jokes make me sound so awful. And I know what you tell everyone else."

"What do I tell 'everyone' else? Everyone who?"

"Aunt Eulalie wrote me - oh, never mind."

"What did your aunt say?"

"Just never mind, Rhett, I don't want to talk about it."

"Perhaps I do."

"Let's just go to supper," she pleaded, pulling at his hand.

"No, Scarlett, you brought this up. I want to know what exactly you think I tell 'everyone,' whoever they are."

"Mother!" Ella's voice carried down the hall. Scarlett turned towards the nursery, an eager look on her face. Rhett tightened his hand on hers but after a silent power struggle, during which she refused to look at him, he let her go. She moved swiftly down the hall in a rustle of silk, and, kneeling in the doorway, took her daughter in her arms.

Rhett had reached the nursery by the time Scarlett rose, relinquishing the embrace. He swooped Ella up against his shoulder and tickled her. "Did you say good night to your mother, Ella?"

Ella squirmed, giggling too hard to answer. Rhett relented and set her back on her feet. He looked through the open door and saw Wade, his focus intent on the model trainset circulating in one corner.

"Wade, son, come say good night to your mother." He saw the boy's shoulders tighten but he did as he was told without grumbling. Scarlett's eyes widened in surprise when Wade came over, mumbling good night and awkwardly lifting his arms for a hug. He stepped out of the embrace quickly, but it was enough. Scarlett's eyes were nearly misty as she looked at her son. Rhett moved to ruffle Wade's hair.

"You're in charge tonight. You watch out for your sister."

"Yes, sir," Wade muttered.

Rhett offered Scarlett his arm again, temporarily calling truce on the aborted discussion from the hallway. He leaned over and his mustache brushed the pale shell of her ear, tickling his upper lip as he whispered, "I intend to keep you out far past their bedtime, my dear."

The dining room of the Kimball House was less opulently decorated than it had been for the Christmas holidays, but it was still smart and polished. They had a small table, pushed up against a paneled wall and set for two. It was far more intimate than the large table they had shared with three other couples that winter.

Rhett sipped his wine and watched Scarlett look everywhere but across the table.

"Ten dollars for your thoughts, my pet," he said, his voice low so it wouldn't travel beyond their table. It was loud enough for Scarlett's ears, and she finally turned to meet his eyes.

"I believe that's more than the going rate, Captain Butler."

"And when have you ever accepted the going rate, if you could swindle even a penny more?" Rhett watched the corners of her mouth tighten.

"Are my thoughts worth so much to you?" she asked lightly, as the practiced flirt she would always be. Her eyes were dark as she studied his face.

"Yes," he said, letting the simple honesty of that statement hang in the air for a moment before he continued. "Especially if you are plotting ways to swindle some other poor soul."

Whatever angry or petulant reply Scarlett might have summoned was cut off by the arrival of the soup. When they were alone again, Scarlett only swirled the bowl of her spoon in the dark broth.

"Is the soup not to your liking?"

Scarlett set her spoon down. "I fear the company has turned my stomach."

"Scarlett—"

"I don't understand you. You - I thought things were different - I thought you wanted - oh never mind! I still can't talk to you. You never can talk about anything without making a joke."

Scarlett picked her spoon back up and delved into the soup with forced gusto, even as Rhett set his own utensil aside. He picked up his wine glass instead, set it back down without taking a drink, and reached inside his jacket for his flask. He drank two quick pulls from the silver mouth and tucked it away again.

Scarlett's frenzied pace slowed as her bowl emptied. After she took the last mouthful and set her spoon aside, Rhett caught her wrist before her hand had lifted from the silverware.

Rhett drew her arm across the small table. His hands dwarfed her fragile wrist and his thumbs caressed the heel of her hand as he lifted it, her palm towards him, and pressed a kiss to her fingertips.

"A kiss for your thoughts. Is that a better bargain?"

Scarlett flushed and tried to pull her hand away. "Rhett, it's not seemly—"

"I don't care how it seems. Stop dodging the question. That's three times tonight, my dear, and my patience is wearing thin."

Scarlett snorted, but her arm relaxed, and the weight of her hand settled in his. "You have more patience than Job."

"You have no idea," Rhett muttered. Then he flashed a tight smile at her, just the edge of white teeth gleaming from underneath his clipped mustache. "And here I thought you'd forgotten all your religious teachings. I'm impressed, my pet."

"Oh - oh!" She flustered, and again her hand tugged against his hold. "You see, you—"

"Perhaps I'm teasing you because you refuse to answer my question. Or - do calm down, Scarlett, you are perilously close to knocking that red wine all over the table - or perhaps, I'm teasing you because you are devilishly charming when you are flustered, and most especially when I am the cause. Haven't you learned anything about me in the last ten years?"

"Thirteen."

"Pardon?"

Scarlett managed to slip her hand away and clasped them both primly in her lap. She turned her head, offering him her profile, smooth and white as if carved from the finest marble.

"We've known each other for thirteen years, Rhett. I can't even believe it myself. Or perhaps I should say, you've known me." She turned back to him, and her clear green eyes looked dark under heavy lashes. "I don't think I've ever known you."

"Scarlett—" but his reply was cut short by the return of the liveried waiter. At Rhett's fierce look, the man hurriedly replaced their empty bowls with new plates of boiled ham, and took his leave as hastily as possible. Scarlett began eating immediately and, reluctantly, Rhett took up his own fork.

They finished the meal together with little more conversation, and such as there was restrained to - to Rhett's thinking - inane commentary on the quality and taste of the food. At last, the dishes had been cleared away. At last, he could lead her to the dance floor. There would be no distractions there, no easy way for her to get away without causing a scene such as she apparently wished to avoid.

His palm on her back was perhaps more firm than strictly necessary for a polite waltz. Scarlett appeared to be deeply engrossed in studying the elaborate folds of his cravat. He murmured to the top of her dark head, "I've offered you ten dollars and a kiss. You do drive a hard bargain, my pet."

"Oh, Rhett," she sighed, raising her eyes to his for just a moment. "Don't let's quarrel here. I haven't danced in so long."

"I shall take you dancing every night if you wish it. Are you so certain we'll quarrel if you speak your mind?"

Scarlett shot him a disbelieving look from under her lashes. Rhett chuckled. "Will it convince you if I promise _not_ to quarrel?"

"I don't believe that. I don't think even you could believe that."

"Try me," Rhett said, squeezing the hand he held.

"You've been needling me all night - I don't even remember."

"Now you are lying, but no matter. I can jog your memory. You accused me of telling your Aunt Eulalie something, something I tell 'everyone' - about you? What is it?"

Rhett watched Scarlett worry at her lower lip with sharp teeth. "Promise?"

He squeezed her hand again. "I promise."

"When you were gone - when you took Bonnie—"

Scarlett stopped. Rhett flexed his fingers against her satin-covered back. "It's all right, Scarlett."

Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath. The tops of her breasts, bared by the neckline of her evening gown, lifted with the movement. His stomach tightened.

"When you were gone," she repeated, beginning again, "Aunt Eulalie wrote to me. She was shocked to learn about the store and the mills. She told me all about how reluctant you were to tell her these things." Scarlett laughed bitterly. "What a portrait you must have painted for her! You as the poor husband, with the unwomanly wife who behaves so scandalously. I thought you didn't mind my work, but you say one thing to me and something else entirely to everyone else. So you can make everyone feel sorry for you, at my expense."

Rhett didn't answer at first. He led her in a turn around the floor, skillfully moving through the patterns of the waltz.

"I was angry," he said at last, knowing it was insufficient.

"You! Angry! Who left whom, Rhett?" She paused a moment, long enough for one sharp breath, then muttered, "Who always leaves?"

"I understand that you are not likely to believe me, but I have not made a habit of criticizing you to all and sundry. Why would I do that, especially here in Atlanta? You— " he paused, and quickly changed the direction of his statement. " _We_ had done enough harm to Bonnie's chances. Reminding everyone of the ways in which you are...extraordinary wouldn't have been wise."

Scarlett actually snorted. "And you are _so_ very wise, aren't you."

Rhett smiled widely. "Touché, Mrs. Butler."

He rather thought Scarlett's pleased smile was pure reflex, for she hastily schooled her features back into a frown. Then she looked up at him, her face open and neutral, but her eyes were dark.

"Why can't you talk to me like this all the time, Rhett?"

"What do you mean?" he demurred, stalling.

"You never talk to me like other people talk. You always mock me, or say things you know I don't understand." Glancing down, Rhett saw her square her shoulders, as if she needed courage to continue. "You called me smart, once, but you make me feel very stupid."

"You are smart," he countered immediately. "Look what you've done with old Frank's store. Look what you did with the mills."

Scarlett glared at him from beneath her lashes, and he understood that the mills were a subject he'd do best to avoid. But he couldn't explain himself to her. Scarlett's brain dealt in absolutes. She was smart about the things she could hold in her grasping little hands, and she wouldn't understand the intricacies of his constant, many-fronted battle: to protect his heart, to provoke in her the only sort of feeling he seemed able to inspire, anger. To keep her at arm's length by discouraging her to come any closer.

What mattered, Rhett reflected, was what he did and said now. What he wanted now. And God help him, he didn't know. He wanted her. He had never stopped wanting her. He had wanted her the first time he saw her, a green girl wearing an afternoon dress at a country barbecue. She flaunted convention with her very essence, her existence. Loving Scarlett, and living with Scarlett—

He knew he had been silent too long when she sighed and seemed to droop in his arms. "I think I'd like to go home now."

"I thought you would want to dance all night."

"I changed my mind," she snapped, then seemed to think better of it. The Southern belle façade visibly slipped over her features. She lifted her chin and tilted her head at a coquettish angle, smiling to show her dimples. "Do take me home, Rhett. I'm just too tired to dance any more tonight."

Rhett scowled and tightened the arm behind her back, drawing her closer to him. "You've always been a bad liar, Scarlett. You aren't tired, unless you are referring to my company and conversation."

"You mustn't hold me so close, it doesn't look right," Scarlett protested, resisting his pull.

"You're my wife, I can hold you however I please."

"Oh!" she fumed. "And I'm sure what _I_ please doesn't matter to you one bit!"

"What do you please?" Rhett asked her in a low voice.

"What?"

Rhett caressed the soft web of skin between her thumb and forefinger and bent his head close to the pale, delicately curving rim of her ear. "What do you please?"

He drew back. He could see the muscles of her slender throat working convulsively. She could sense the rules had changed, but she was stubborn. "I told you I want to go home."

Rhett turned her gracefully out of the crowd. They were on the edge of the room, close to the wall. Close enough that Scarlett couldn't back up without coming up against it; couldn't move forward with him in her path. For a moment neither of them moved. Then Scarlett raised her eyes to his - and stepped forward. The satin of her bodice rustled against his waistcoat. "Please take me home, Rhett."

 _Damn her_. He had thought to turn the tables on her petulant mood, and somehow she was countering his move. Scarlett flirted, she didn't seduce. This was a new game.

Rhett stepped aside swiftly, before the heat of her proximity could burn through his clothes. He needed to regain control of the play.

When the carriage pulled up in front of their imposing home, Rhett helped Scarlett alight and walked her to the veranda steps. He gently disengaged her arm from his, and lifted her hand to brush a kiss across her gloved knuckles.

"Good night, my pet," he murmured.

Already on the first step, Scarlett looked at him with wide-eyed shock. "Rhett?"

"I'm afraid I have business yet this evening."

Scarlett backed up another step, bringing herself level with his height. "You are a liar and a cad, Rhett Butler," she began in a hiss, her voice rising with every word until it reached an almost hysterical peak. "And I don't care if you ever come back. Go to hell!" she snapped in closing, and stormed into the house.

Several hours later, the house was dark when Rhett let himself in the same front door. The roots of his hair were still damp with sweat. His pockets were lighter, but not because he had emptied them on drink and women. He'd planned to; he'd ridden to Belle's, walked the horse past the front porch bright with light spilling from the windows. If he'd crossed that threshold, Belle would have been there with whisky and a girl and he'd have woken up in the morning bleary-eyed and muzzy-headed, too late to go home, in many ways.

Instead he'd kept riding, urging the horse to a self-punishing trot. His sore back betrayed every one of his now 46 years. And he'd given the poor stable boy, roused from his bed in the middle of the night, a generous on-the-spot bonus for his time to groom the horse.

There was no light left burning, but a single stubby candle sat on the hall console, waiting to be taken upstairs. Rhett shed his jacket and lit the candle. He paused, one foot on the first step, and looked up. The small flame didn't illuminate very far, only a few steps. The emptiness of the hall loomed blackly beyond the wavering borders of light. He should have done this years ago. He'd been a fool, afraid of the wrong things. Afraid of a truth that would have been far less painful than the estrangements and heartbreak that had followed instead.

He had tried several times in the past year to leave her, with no more success than he had ever had, during or after the war. He wasn't sure if he was wrong, or lying to himself, the previous year, when he had said his love had died; or if something new bloomed in its place. But in one thing, at least, he had told her the truth. He was not interested in picking up broken pieces, or in beating himself up over the choices he'd made. And the old days had turned out to lack the charm he sought. Charm, he thought wryly, finally beginning to climb the stairs, was one thing Scarlett had always possessed in abundance. Charm and bullheaded tenacity which, as it turned out, was not so bad from the receiving end.

At her bedroom door, Rhett paused, remembering Scarlett's hot words when he'd left her at home after their embattled supper. Would it already be too late? But her door swung easily under the light pressure of his palm. The frail circle of candlelight fell on the dusky pink carpet, but his feet stopped at the threshold. His mouth and throat went thick, and his hands grew cold. It felt like guilt, and he was no longer sure of himself, of his welcome in the sanctuary. He stood still, barely breathing, trying to pick the murmur of Scarlett's breath out of the heavy blanket of mute night.

He heard first a small gasp, and tuned his ears to the sound until others became clear in the darkness, until he was so aware of her that it seemed a sudden cacophony of noise had broken the stillness. And then he was galvanized back into movement, hurrying across the carpet to set the candle on the table nearest her bed. Conscious of the children sleeping down the hall, he caught the door with his heel and kicked it closed behind him as he went. The light from the small flame was weak and wavered, but strong enough to illumine the pale face stark between black hair and dark bedding he knew to be richly jewel-toned in daylight. The small head tossed against the mound of pillows as Scarlett cried out in her sleep. With his hands free of the candleholder, Rhett leaned over her and grasped her shoulders. He shook her, gently, and said her name in a strong voice, repeated it until her eyes snapped open.

Even in the darkness, those eyes caught the light and gleamed like a feral cat's, green and angular in her ghostly face. She shrank away from his touch and he lifted his hands, palms up in a gesture of surrender.

"You were having a nightmare, Scarlett." She raised her hands to her hair, inexplicably smoothing the frazzled strands. "Was it your old dream?" he tried. Those glowing eyes went slitted, apparently evaluating - something. Him? Finally, she nodded.

"Yes. It's always the same dream."

"Always?" he asked, gently, moving slowly to sit on the side of the mattress. Scarlett did not protest, so he moved one of his hands across the coverlet. It stopped just short of the rise of blankets over her body. He saw her gaze flicker and then her hand shot out and squeezed his fingers with an iron grip.

He held her hand, firmly, and waited until the ragged sound of her breathing had smoothed out.

"Thank you," Scarlett murmured, retrieving her hand and tucking it underneath her covers.

Reluctantly, Rhett let go, and placing his hand back on the mattress he leaned toward her. "Ella said you've been having bad dreams for months."

Her eyes were so brilliant that even in the dying candlelight he could read her. Her lids narrowed. "Ella had no business telling you that."

Rhett shrugged, and elected not to express his disagreement. "Scarlett, in the morning I want you to say to yourself - do you remember? Let me remind you. I want you to say to yourself, 'nothing can ever touch me, so long as Rhett is here and the United States Government holds out.'"

"That's a joke!" Scarlett responded almost before he had finished the words. "As long as you're here? Why thank you, Captain Butler, that will do perfectly nicely every few months or so. Don't trouble yourself, Rhett."

"Scarlett, I know—"

"It doesn't matter, Rhett." She looked away, in the direction of the mantel clock, but it was impossible to read in the dark. "Why are you home? It's still dark out. Do you tire of her bed so soon these days?"

"This is the only bed I've been in tonight."

Scarlett laughed mirthlessly. "How unusual for you."

Rhett clenched his jaw and stood. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Madam. Sweet dreams," he sneered, before heading for the door.

"Wait!" Scarlett cried out behind him, a thin sound, as if forced from a closed throat against her will. He didn't care, he wouldn't stop. Living with Scarlett - _this_ was living with her, the fights, the one-sided feeling. How could he have expected otherwise?

Unfortunately, Rhett had misjudged the distance and layout of the no longer familiar bedroom, and expecting to have one more stride before he would reach out for the door knob, his foot smashed full speed into the door panel.

"Damn!" Scarlett giggled at his curse. Rhett glared in her direction. She shouldn't have been able to see him, but he heard her sniff.

"It serves you right. I said wait."

"So you did. Well, my pet, out with it. For what further abuse is my presence required?"

"Why are you here?"

"Because, my dear, you - and your door - have not let me leave."

"That's not what I mean. Why were you in my bedroom when I woke up?"

"Ah."

"Rhett?"

"Lift that candle, would you? I can't see a damn thing." When she had obliged him, and he was able, just barely, to make out the grey outlines of her furniture, he found the chair by the fireplace and sat, slouching against the soft back.

"I did not go to Belle Watling's tonight, my dear." Scarlett set the candle down. Its diminishing light no longer reached her face. He could see the shadowy outline, but not the details. Rhett fumbled a cigar from his pocket and lit it. In the brief flare he could see her eyes on him. "I went riding. I came...back." Rhett drew off the cigar, exhaled, repeated the delaying tactic, and chose the lie. "I heard you when I came upstairs."

"Oh."

Rhett examined the cigar, illuminated by its own glowing tip. "Indeed."

"Well, thank you for waking me. As you can see, I'm fine now."

"Quite."

"Rhett?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm fine. You can go now. I - I'll lift the candle so you can see the door this time." Blackness wavered as she did just that. Taking advantage of the illumination, Rhett tossed his cigar into the fireplace, then stood and stomped the glowing tip into ash.

"Good night, Mrs. Butler."


	19. Chapter 19

_**Content Warning** : this chapter is M-rated for sexual content. Skim it or skip it if that's not your thing. There is one more chapter after this. _

**...**

Waking late on a chill morning a few weeks before Ella's birthday, Scarlett stretched her limbs under the soft weight of blankets. As her muscles elongated and relaxed, the pleasant kinetic tingle worked its way from her fingers and toes, stirring her to consciousness. As her mind awoke, her first thought was the same as it had been for the last month. Where was Rhett?

As her body settled back into the warm, rumpled folds of bedding, she held her breath and held herself perfectly still, until the faint noises of the household outside her door became audible. The distant tinny clatter of breakfast being prepared, a shrill and indeterminate sound recognizable as Ella's voice in some exuberant exclamation. Running water, the thumps of footsteps or furniture. Although she strained her ears, Rhett made no sound this morning voyage of her senses could discover. No creak of bed or scrape of chair legs ever slipped from behind his closed door, no bass rumble from his drawling voice slipped under the crack beneath her own. If there were footsteps in the hall, they inevitably belonged to Hattie, stopping before Scarlett's door to knock and check her mistress' wakefulness.

There was no sign or signal of Rhett's presence, so - as she did every morning - Scarlett girded her heart against disappointment. She wrapped her feelings in armor, tightening her self-control like corset strings so that even when she saw that black, lightly salted head rising above a high chair back and framed in the dining room doorway, nothing would slip out. Her heart never skipped a beat and her voice never trembled when she said, lightly, "Good morning Rhett," and extended the greeting to Ella and Wade, if they were already at the table. If she longed to stop by his chair, lean over his shoulder to steal the biscuit already spread with butter and jam, and punctuate her greeting with a kiss, she gave no sign. She walked in a wide arc around his seat and not even the slightest sway of her upper body in his direction gave away any hint of what she had buried in her heart before rising from her bed.

At night, before bed, in the time she had once used for the prayers required by Ellen and Mammy, she allowed surprise to overwhelm her, exerting a magnetic pull that drew a tide of gratitude to her lips and she would give thanks to a once-forgotten God that Rhett was still at home. The confusing rush would keep her mind stirred and wakeful long into the night, and such a welter of emotions often drew her nightmares back when she did sleep, but every morning she began anew in cool preparation.

Scarlett and Rhett had managed to enter détente, a cease-fire, an easy if shallow coexistence. Their lives were largely separate, but peaceful and pleasant. It was not marked by the bland, polite pleasantries of their later marriage, nor marred by the provoking jeers that had moved her to rage when they had first moved into the house on Peachtree Street, after the honeymoon trip and the comparatively, retrospectively halcyon days of their residence in the National Hotel. Sometimes Rhett's barbs were too sharp, but life on the whole was generally pleasant, and no more or less than pleasant. It was awful. It could have been worse. Rhett didn't seem to care, but it was somehow a less distant attitude than the coldest days ever passed between them. He treated her more earnestly than he had ever done, and conversed with her more seriously and attentively than he had done since the days before they were married - since the days when she had been married to Frank, and Rhett had been the only soul in all of Atlanta who listened to her problems and did not condemn her. Yet, despite what now seemed a second honeymoon at Tara, they were still living apart. The interlude at Tara matched their first honeymoon in nearly every way, down to the sudden distance between them once they were both in residence on Peachtree Street.

But Rhett was home, and above all, Scarlett would not risk driving him away. She would make no move to upset the status quo, if the status quo included Rhett's presence in her life. His consistent, daily presence. She only had to be patient, she told herself. If Rhett stayed home, that was half the battle won! No man had ever been able to resist her, if she had set her mind to having them. She had never allowed that Rhett might be so utterly, basically different than other men. Oh, she knew all the many ways he seemed so different - he did not fear her, and still seemed hardly to respect her, he did not play boyishly or crumple beneath her charms - but he was still a man. And she would win him over - if she could just be patient.

Snapping at Ella across the breakfast table, and the dinner table, and the supper table, it never did occur to Scarlett that patience was a virtue she had not fully mastered.

It seemed only a matter of time before Rhett would leave again, and Scarlett had hoped fervently for a baby to follow from their abandoned nights in her old bedroom. When her courses arrived, she stayed closeted in her room for two days. She was sure he would know, for nothing escaped his attention, and that he would be gone when she finally stirred. Perhaps he had only stayed so long in case she did fall pregnant; if she was not, he would be gone again. On the second day, when her supper tray had returned to the kitchen untouched for a second time, Rhett had entered her bedroom for the first and only time since the night he had pulled her from her nightmare. She had meekly endured his scolding without hearing it, but the fact of his continued presence had been enough to rouse her from her torpor and restore her energy.

As the summer chilled into fall, the bright days at Tara seemed ever more distant. The careful masks and shields and distance Scarlett erected every morning became thin and shaky and ever more difficult to maintain. Rhett had changed so much in the last year, and most of it for the better. The weight and bloat that had thickened his middle and jowled his face had been gone for months. His chest was strong and broad, and she missed his warmth and the intimacy of crisp black hair crinkling under her cheek. Streaks of silver winged back from his temples, but they gave his old pirate's face an elegant frame. She longed to press her fingers to his forehead and follow those threads back until her fingers were woven in the thick, soft heft of his black hair, the texture of which was now so much clearer in her memory following their summer idyll. There were creases in the corners of his eyes which were new, but the black irises still shone with vitality and mockery. They were no longer dull and distant.

It had been a long month at the end of a long year, and the quiescence that was a product of fear and confusion was weakening. Scarlett's passionate nature began to chafe under her demure façade. The little tempers that she would not direct at Rhett began to leak out, and found targets in the children. Ella was an easy target, with her fidgets, her inattention, her clumsiness. Wade had been off-limits for months, his own temper too uncertain, their relationship too fraught. With Rhett at home she felt more secure, such that although the boy had behaved better in one month than he had in the 11 previous, Scarlett soon began to snap at him as well. He left his shoes in the hall, he let his dog trample the garden, he didn't sit up straight enough at dinner. Mother and son had barely begun a tentative rapprochement when Scarlett's throttled anger threatened to drive them further apart.

The pleasant, comfortable, empty atmosphere in the Peachtree Street house began to strain, to thicken and sprout sharp edges, too closely emulating the tense interludes of the past: the days of "Caveat Emptorium" and those unanswered quarrels, as though Scarlett was facing the specter of repeating, in dreadful order, those first years of their marriage. The blissful honeymoon, the companionable interlude, the tempers and one-sided bickering.

But then, there had been Bonnie. Now, she already knew there would be no child. And so her thoughts completed their circle: what would hold Rhett in Atlanta? She who hated to look back felt she had spent a bitter year doing little else. _What had happened to gumption?_ she criticized herself.

After Hattie had helped her dress and fixed her hair, Scarlett eyed herself in the mirror of her new vanity. The contested piece of furniture had been located, still crated, in the carriage house. She was sure Rhett believed she had only welcomed it because of his insults the night he had first mentioned it, but she truly found the new furniture darling and stylish. It was not so imposing and ornate as the pieces she had originally chosen for her house, but with its elegant detailing and glistering trim, it suited her just fine.

What she needed, Scarlett thought, preening at her upswept hair with gentle fingertips, was a plan. There was no ball to come to her aid, no parties - at least, none to which she was invited, despite the surprising friendliness, even friendship, of Sarah Bonnell, and her own perfectly demure and respectable appearances at the baneful sewing circle. The children were back in school, and she hardly had any idea of how to integrate them in her schemes. The day they had all gone riding had ended in disaster, and the picnic at Tara had depleted her imagination. She could hardly send them away for the night anymore, without Melanie or even Ashley in residence in Atlanta. Children were too much for Pittypat's aging nerves.

Glumly, Scarlett braced her elbows on the vanity table and cupped her chin in her hand. She scowled at herself for, as always when she flaunted the restrictions with which she had been inoculated in her youth, she heard the echo of her mother's and Mammy's admonishments.

There was one small blessing, one feeble ray of hope: to the best of her knowledge, Rhett stayed home nights. He had always been able to move as lightly and soundlessly as an Indian, so she knew it was entirely possible for him to come and go without her knowledge. He wouldn't even have to be sneaky about it, for he moved with such unexpected grace effortlessly. But as far as she knew, he entered his room every night, and stayed there until morning. She had never seen any evidence to the contrary.

The family took most meals together in the dining room, although there was the odd dinner that either she or Rhett would miss for working. After supper, the children would go upstairs to be readied for bed, Ella with Prissy, Wade now too old for the nursery. Scarlett and Rhett would retreat to their own corners of the main floor until, separately, they would ascend the stairs to say their good nights to the children and retire.

Scarlett's mind turned over this night time routine. It was the only time she could count on both she and Rhett to be home, to not be drawn away by business. And she remembered something else from the early days of their marriage, remembered sitting close by each other at the dinner table, or tucked under his arm in the parlor, while Rhett smoked his cigar and made her laugh until her sides ached with stories of his youth, or left her gasping in suspense as he related risks taken during his blockade-running days. Could she entice him to keep her company like that again? Somehow forestall his retreat upstairs, or lure him back down after he kissed Ella and completed his mysterious nightly conversation with Wade?

It would be mortifying, if she were to ask for his company and be rebuffed. Yet pride had already hurt them so much - that cagey obstinacy they shared, which had already led to so many missed chances. If she made advances and he found them unwanted, he would almost certainly leave again, and she wouldn't have to face him in embarrassment and shame. Could it hurt worse than the hurts she - and they - had already endured, even so? She wasn't a coward. It was high time, Scarlett silently admonished her reflection, that she stopped acting like one.

A course of action, if not exactly a plan, decided, fortified Scarlett's energy the rest of the day. She felt secure of the outcome now that action was a foregone conclusion. Hadn't they spent that week at Tara? Hadn't Rhett come home, and stayed for going on a month now? She could not be mistaken in this.

After supper, Scarlett, buoyant and eager, took Ella by the hand and walked with the children and Prissy up the stairs before releasing them for their nightly ablutions. She kissed Wade and Ella on their foreheads and bade them an early good night, then retreated to her own bedroom, leaving the door open. She puttered around the perimeter, unnecessarily straightening knickknacks and adjusting the angle of the furniture by minute degrees, before settling at her vanity. It was easy to keep an ear toward the door - and the hallway beyond - from that perch.

Rhett could move with effortless stealth, but with her door open, her ears pricked, and every nerve ending in her body alight for some indication of his presence, his ascent and progress towards the children's room seemed as loud as a stampede. Her fingers trembled as she tucked away the jewelry she had been absentmindedly organizing and smoothed her skirts. Going out into the hall, she rested one hand on the top of the newel post, her body at an angle to the stairs, half-turned in the direction whence Rhett would come.

Scarlett looked down that broad flight, her feet safely back from the precipice, and melancholy briefly clouded her thoughts. Had she - they - almost been happy? He had said, last year, that he had hoped she loved him after the night of Ashley's party. She knew she had missed him, and Bonnie, and been eager for their return, eager to share the news of her pregnancy. She knew she had wanted his baby. How many chances would life offer them? Oh, he must listen to her now - he simply must.

Her mind was still elsewhere when Rhett's voice spoke softly against her ear, for in her reverie he had come upon her in the hall completely undetected.

"Did you forget where you were going, my pet?"

"Oh!" she cried, jumping back, her free hand going to her throat. "Rhett. You startled me."

Rhett's lazy smile was familiar and dear, the flash of white teeth under his moustache. "It's not like you to stand around and gather wool, Scarlett, though I won't ask for your thoughts." Something dark clouded his brow, and though he kept his tone light, his words chilled them both. "I'd rather be on safer ground before I anger you again."

Scarlett clenched her fist on the newel post, and they were both silent for a moment as unhappy memory held sway. With an effort of will, Scarlett raised her eyes to her husband and smiled, angling her head to show her dimple. "If you come have a brandy with me, I'll tell you."

Rhett eyed her, whatever light or darkness that had flashed in his eyes now disappearing behind a bland mask. His hands slipped into his pockets and he rocked back on his heels. "That's a price I can pay, and not at all up to your usual hard bargaining, my pet."

Scarlett wrapped her hand around Rhett's arm, tugging him into motion. "Didn't you just say you didn't want to make me mad, Rhett? I do hope you're not going to call me a swindler again."

Rhett chuckled. His hand slid out of his pocket when he angled his arm to provide her a more secure support as they descended the staircase together. "What brought this about, Scarlett?"

"Hmm?" she questioned with a distracted murmur, her mind already in the dining room, rapidly sifting through and discarding the things she might say to Rhett.

Rhett's voice didn't change, didn't lose its mild, disinterested tone, but the muscles of his arm under her palm were tense. "You haven't asked for my company in quite some time."

Scarlett allowed Rhett the polite courtesy of seating her at the dinner table, then offered him a sly smile and an upward glance through her lowered lashes as he walked back with the decanter in one hand and two glasses in the other. "I was still mad at you, of course."

"And now you are not," Rhett stated without question as he poured a measure of brandy for them both.

"I've decided to forgive you," Scarlett answered, and her voice broke slightly as she struggled to keep her words light. She didn't just mean the remarks - and behavior - that had so angered and hurt her the day he had returned from New Orleans with Wade, though she tried without success to keep up the pretense of superficial conversation.

"A boon indeed," Rhett murmured before sipping his brandy.

Scarlett sipped from her own glass, but the sweet liquor did not help her suddenly parched tongue. He had accepted her simple ploy without acrimony, and her feeble stratagems had expired. They were seated side by side, without the wide barrier of the table to protect her. She had hardly been this near to him in a month, and she was struck as always by his physical presence. The force of his size, his darkness, his elegance had not dimmed for her, had not been at all diminished by familiarity. This close, the heat of his powerful body warmed her as much as sitting near a blazing fire.

The lengthening silence was difficult to breach. The dining room, dark even when well-lit, was oppressive with memories. Rhett explaining the end of his love and walking away. Rhett squeezing her head between his heavy hands and pinning her in place. Rhett disintegrating before her eyes in the weeks and months after Bonnie's death. Why had she asked him to share a brandy? The darkness in this room was overpowering, borne not from the heavy walnut furniture and thick drapery but from memories which were suddenly inescapable, no matter how strongly she wished to avoid looking back.

Scarlett's wrist flicked as she tossed back the rest of the brandy. What a foolish idea this had all been. As she made to rise, a bronze hand, the back sparsely furred with crisp black hair, encircled her narrow wrist.

"I believe the deal was a brandy for your thoughts, this time."

Scarlett shrugged, but Rhett held her fast. "It was a jest."

"Come, Scarlett, I don't think I've known you to make a joke ever before, and I don't think you've started now. We had a bargain. You might try something new and honor that."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, stung. She sat back down, hard, her bustle frame crinkling noisily in protest at the awkward seat. "You're one to talk, Rhett."

"I'm not sure what you mean, my dear," Rhett said as he refilled both their glasses.

"I mean there's been any number of bargains you haven't upheld. You want to hold me to a joke, when you've broken any number of promises." Rhett's eyes glittered, but Scarlett plunged ahead with brash ignorance. "Wasn't marriage to you supposed to be fun?"

After a measured sip of brandy, Rhett's arm moved with a deceptively languid pace until his hand rested low on her thigh, finding a grip on her through her dress and just above her knee. Then belying the measured movement, his fingers gripped her, pressing firmly into the muscles along the backs of her legs. "You're on dangerous ground there, my pet. Pray consider that before you tell me what bargains you think I've broken."

"Let me go, that hurts—" Scarlett protested, trying without success to pry his fingers loose.

"Does it? Strangely, I don't recall making any promises to the contrary. Perhaps at your next wedding, you'll add that to the vows."

Hot tears pricked Scarlett's eyes as she continued to struggle to remove his grip. "Why must you always turn nasty!"

"You brought up bargains and broken promises, my pet," Rhett said, beginning to lean closer to her. "Shall I begin my list? There was, of course, the business deal we made, whereby I exacted a promise from you not to use my money in aid of Ashley Wilkes. No matter, I know you believe you followed the letter of that agreement - if not the spirit. But wasn't our very marriage a bargain at heart, my dear? You at last took pity on my poor, longing heart and granted me your body in exchange for my money." Rhett's smile flashed perilously. "And fondness, I must not forget. Is it not entertaining, how we seem to be repeating the past? Please do forgive me for not laughing. It's hard to find this at all amusing."

"I regretted it!"

The hand on her leg spasmed, broad fingertips digging in before they relaxed until his grip was light. "Pardon."

"I regretted it as soon as it happened. I didn't understand why but - it didn't make me happy."

Rhett removed his hand from her leg and held both his palms up in front of himself, and stared at them for a long, quiet moment before he ran them both through his hair, disheveling his immaculate coif.

Scarlett pressed her own palm to his knee and said his name, softly. After a pause, he placed his own hand over hers. Larger and darker, it covered hers completely.

"And now?" he said at last.

Scarlett bit her lip and studied Rhett's sober face. She felt uncomfortably vulnerable, unwilling to risk more by being more open with him. He was as unreadable as ever, his face closed to her, his eyes black. In this last month, he had talked to her openly, without riddles or mockery, and listened to her without criticism or contempt. Since that first night, he had exhibited model, decorous behavior; until the last week or so when it had begun to strain. Until tonight, when he had pricked her again. Scarlett shook her head, trying to settle her thoughts like puzzle pieces - if she could just begin to fit them together, perhaps she would understand Rhett.

Rhett, misunderstanding her movement, questioned softly. "You are not happy now?"

"No - yes - what I mean, Rhett—" Scarlett tripped over the words and Rhett gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, his touch now warm and gentle.

"Out with it, Scarlett."

"I'm happy you're home, Rhett."

"Ah. Yes, I suppose I am. Home, that is." He peered at her, with a strangely familiar look that she couldn't quite place. "If that is all - you must excuse me, my dear. It's getting late. Good night, Scarlett."

Rhett stood and Scarlett felt icy fingers grip her heart. The night couldn't end so soon - she hadn't accomplished anything yet! "Rhett!" she called out, her voice shrill but soft. He stopped, turned, and she surprised that look on his face again, the strange leaping light behind his dark eyes. Her breath caught as she recognized it.

Scarlett stood and moved swiftly to Rhett's side, tugging at his sleeve with clammy fingers. "Why do you look at me like that, Rhett?" she whispered.

"I'm not in the mood for games, my pet. Good n—"

"No!" she commanded. "I'm not playing a game. Oh, my darling - please," her voice fell on the last word to a barely audible whisper, and she paused to gather her strength to speak clearly. With her hand clutching his sleeve, she raised her eyes to her husband's. "I love you." Scarlett knew it would be the last time she offered him her heart. If he refused her again - as he had so many times in the past twelve months, refused her love and denied his own - she would return to her room and make of her heart a prison, a stronghold, fortify herself against him and learn to accept the empty, sterile relationship of the last month.

She could not withhold the triumphant smile that curved her lips even as Rhett's mouth captured her own. His arms had gone around her, wrapping her waist and shoulders with unyielding pressure that forced her body against his. She went willingly, melting into the embrace, but he lifted his head suddenly. One arm released her and he touched a wide fingertip to the corner of her mouth. Scarlett's lashes trembled but she did not open her eyes. His mouth moved, pressing hot, open kisses to the sharp edge of her cheekbone, her jawline, the point where her ear met her neck, and she shivered. He kissed the corner of her mouth again but her grin had not faded.

"Stop smiling," he murmured. The movement tickled her lips with his mustache, and she giggled.

Rhett moved with the swift ferocity of a mountain lion, his muscles tense with predatory strength as he grasped the base of her skull, tightened his arms around her hips and lifted her against his body. His mouth found hers again and he slanted his lips on hers, taking advantage of her surprised gasp to slip his tongue against her own. Her hands flew up instinctively and gripped his shoulders. The warmth and languor in her limbs flared into desire that made her toes - dangling in mid-air - tingle. Conscious thought was washed away under the onslaught of Rhett's mouth on hers, and her smile faded as her lips moved of their own volition to kiss him back.

Rhett released her slowly, lowering her body down his without allowing even air to come between them, until she was again flat-footed on the floor. Scarlett wobbled unsteadily. She swallowed the elated words that bubbled in her throat, unwilling to take any more risks now that Rhett had taken her in his arms again. She wanted to press him, force him to admit his own love, for what else could his actions mean? Yet self-preservation and yes, pride, still held her back. She was certain Rhett wanted her; but only nearly certain he loved her. Perhaps she had misread his expression, and it was not that old cat-at-a-mousehole stare that had once meant he was looking to see if she had made any room in her heart for him.

Finally Scarlett opened her eyes and met Rhett's gaze. His heavy-lidded eyes were hot with desire that curled her toes in her slippers. "I don't think you've kissed me nearly enough, Rhett Butler," she said, tugging at his immovable shoulders.

"Is that so, Mrs. Butler," he murmured, his large warm hand slowly caressing up and down her narrow back.

"Didn't you tell me I should be kissed often? Once a month seems hardly to qualify."

Rhett chuckled and cupped her cheek, sweeping his thumb along the arc of bone beneath soft skin. Each slow brush marked a tingling path and she felt her skin growing warm and flushed. Rhett lowered his head and kissed the hair piled on the top of her head, the top of her ear, her temple, her cheek, the tip of her nose. His head and mouth moved lazily as he pressed chaste kisses until her mouth felt like the only inch of her face untouched. Her lips had gone dry in anticipation and when her tongue darted out to moisten them, that hot light in Rhett's eyes flared.

"Am I welcome in the sanctuary?" he murmured. She furrowed her brow.

"The what - oh." Scarlett scowled. Leave it to Rhett to say something mean - even now. With an effort, Scarlett swallowed her indignation, unwilling to trample on their fragile peace for a second time in one evening. She pursed her lips against a hot retort and paused a moment until she could speak evenly. "Yes, Rhett. For - for good. For as long as you...want..." Scarlett trailed off into a mumble, feeling embarrassed and awkward, almost wanton, issuing such an invitation under Rhett's knowing black eyes. She felt as young and naïve as that first day she'd seen him at Twelve Oaks, when his dark gaze had seemed as if he could see through layers of clothing to her naked skin.

His hand on her back pressed her briefly, and she would have sworn it shook against the silk of her dress, but he drew away so quickly the movement barely had time to register in her senses. Instead, he offered her his arm with a short, gentlemanly bow, and began to escort her upstairs. Knowledge of their destination, a room where Rhett had hardly set foot for years, and certainly not for such intimacies, made her flush. Memory of the last time he _had_ \- _she_ had - made her skin burn hotly.

Rhett stopped suddenly outside her door. She looked up at him, feeling the warmth of her skin that meant she was surely red-faced, and wished the hall lamp was not nearly so bright. She didn't like for him to see her unease. It made her feel inferior to his calm and implacable strength. But she was sure now that his hands did tremble when he turned her to face him, stilling only when he gently but firmly wrapped them around her upper arms. His low voice was surprisingly rough and hoarse when he spoke.

"Do you want this?" he asked. Oh dear God, could she actually turn any more red? Why did he have to ask this, why couldn't they just cross her threshold and close that door behind them, shut out the world so she wouldn't feel so uncomfortable? She wanted to be closed in the room with Rhett, with no concerns about servants or children who might see them.

Scarlett swallowed hard, and it was painful around the lump in her throat. She looked at the polished toes of Rhett's shoes. "Yes," she whispered.

"I need to be sure, Scarlett." His voice held some strange, deep note she didn't understand. Scarlett looked up at him, hoping for comprehension, and saw his eyes were bleak and pained. She wondered if he, too, was thinking about that night, and remembered what he had told her the previous September. _I was afraid to face you the next morning, for fear I'd been mistaken and you didn't love me._

Rising to her toes, Scarlett kissed her husband on the lips. Her hands slid up his chest and he released his grip on her arms, leaving her free to wrap them around his neck, her palms pressing against the back of it, the soft hair at his nape caressing her thumbs. Rhett didn't move, but let her take charge as best she could. Frustrated with his immobility, Scarlett tried to raise a response. Precariously, on tiptoe, she shuffled closer until her body was flush against his. She could feel even the small buttons of his shirt pressed against her bosom, and a soft fold of his cravat brushed against the base of her throat. But he did not lift his hands to clasp her, or move towards the open bedroom door, or even respond to her kiss. Shyly, driven by irritation and desire, she touched the tip of her tongue to his lips, then repeated the gesture when he still failed to respond. She felt his lips part minutely against hers and a victorious thrill coursed through her. Buoyed by this triumphant high, newly if temporarily brave, she slipped her tongue into his mouth until she brushed the tip of his.

 _Finally_ , she thought with relief, as Rhett groaned and his arms came around her in an iron embrace. He moved, advancing into her until they were stumbling blindly into her bedroom, Scarlett moving backwards and nearly tripping over the train of her bustle. She had no fear of falling, for her arms were wrapped tightly around Rhett's neck and his own were firm around her waist. No matter what, their combined force would keep her upright. The sound of the heavy door closing was muffled by the blood rushing in her ears.

Rhett stopped abruptly in the middle of the bedroom and spun her in his arms. Despite their size, his hands were deft on the small row of buttons down her back, and that overly intimate knowledge he had always possessed of women's clothing made short work of the hooks and tapes of her skirt and bustle. He pulled the skirt away as she stepped out of it, balanced with one hand on his shoulder. She didn't know where he put the skirt and bodice for he was back behind her before she had stepped out of her petticoats, relieving her of that burden as well before he paused and rested his hands on her waist.

Her corset was thick, but the heat from his body and hands penetrated those remaining layers she wore. His hands couldn't span her waist entirely, she noticed with some glumness, but they still dwarfed her in a way that made her feel pleasantly petite. For a moment Rhett didn't move, and his breath tickled some hair that had escaped from its pins to fall limply behind her ears. Then, swiftly and surely, he unknotted the laces of her corset and made quick work of loosening their binding force until the garment drooped away from her body and she could unhook the busk and let it fall into his hands.

Cold air flowed down the back of her chemise when Rhett stepped away. She heard soft thuds and rustling as he disposed of the corset with her other things. The loss of his warmth and another rush of shyness left her trembling and isolated. Suddenly the bed seemed miles away, and Rhett might be a dream behind her, unseen and distant. Tara had been a rhapsodic honeymoon, a lazy sun-dappled world where they drowsed in her bed and were free to form new memories, unencumbered by a past that could not stretch its invasive tendrils to that far haven. Here in her bedroom, in their house, old memories held sway. From her vantage point she could see the chair he had occupied when she had informed him, heatedly, that she was pregnant with Bonnie; and a year on from that, when she had awkwardly delivered the message that he would no longer be welcome in her bed. Her stomach burned with shame and regret, a tight pain that pinched her gut with fire. When she had been ill, and lost the baby, Melanie had pulled that chair to her bedside. As far as Scarlett knew, Rhett had never occupied it then, never relieved Melanie's vigil with his own. And she, Scarlett, had been sure he did not want her, and had never asked for him.

And then there was the bed. When she focused on it, it ceased to be distant and instead swelled until it filled her eyes and seemed to take up the whole room. Her palms were damp and clammy when she thought of the last time he had joined her in that bed, had _taken_ her to that bed, and any protest she might have thought to make, any struggle she might have rejoined, had been obliterated under the fire and force and dizzying confusion of his touch. But she had awoken alone, and he had never again returned to that bed.

Until tonight. Rhett was behind her again, and when he wrapped his arm under her ribs and pulled her back to his chest, she realized he had also removed most of his own clothing. She could feel the texture of his chest hair imprinting on her skin through her fragile chemise. The soft waistband of his drawers was a slim lump across her back. With so few layers separating their skin, she could clearly feel the heat and firmness of his erection like a branding iron nestled along the curve of her rump. Her mouth parted with a breathless gasp.

Rhett curved one hand around her ribs as he grasped her shoulder with his other hand. Her own hands hung futilely at her sides, and she pressed her fingertips into her thighs. At Tara, their lovemaking had been mutually passionate, unlike the earliest months of their marriage, but she had never again participated as she had that last night in this room. She had let Rhett lead and she had followed, hungry and burning with love unarticulated. But that bed filled her eyes, and remained behind her eyelids even when she scrunched them closed against the intrusion of memory. The centers of her palms began to itch as if they too remembered softly scratchy hair, skin and muscle like velvet over iron. Rhett moved his hand along her shoulder and up her neck. His fingers passed over her ear and with implacable gentleness he urged her to tilt her head, then he kissed her behind her ear and down her throat. Her own low moan sounded unrecognizable to herself.

"Sweet," he murmured against her throat, and "Scarlett." She gripped her legs, unsure of Rhett's expectations, afraid she could still drive him away or, possibly worse, embarrass herself. The mistakes of the past surrounded her in this bedroom, their arresting power strengthened by proximity that overruled and unwrote more recent history. She longed to turn in Rhett's embrace so she could see his face, but fear froze her in place, and gradually the rigidity and coldness of ice doused desire and stiffened her limbs. Rhett, kissing her neck and shoulder, lifted his head. Her heartbeat fluttered. She would lose him anyway - this had happened before—

Another arm joined the one already hugging her rib cage, trapping both her arms at her sides. His swarthy skin, lightly furred with black hair, was dark against her brilliantly white chemise. Corded muscles stood out on both arms. She felt the shelf of his chin come to rest in the nest of hair still mostly piled high on her head, though the coiffure was beginning to droop as the pins slipped out, disturbed by their intimacy.

They stood together in the middle of her bedroom for a minute or more, the only sound their own breathing, but despite the reassuring comfort of Rhett's embrace Scarlett did not relax. She heard him sigh, felt the heavy breath blow through her hair and across her scalp.

"I'm sorry," she began, panicking.

"Close your eyes," he interrupted.

"What?"

"Close your eyes, my dear." She complied. "Well?"

"Oh - yes, they're closed, Rhett. But why? What are you—"

"Hush."

"But, Rhett," she said, indignant.

"Hush." His voice wasn't angry, but it was hard in a way that brooked no argument and further protest died in her throat. He squeezed her torso, as if rewarding her compliance with an embrace. Then his arms fell away and his warmth grew distant as he stepped away. Her mouth parted, then closed with a snap, still honoring his gentle command.

Warm hands closed on her calf. Scarlett gasped and tried to step away, but with Rhett holding her leg she was in danger of losing her balance. She swayed, and one of Rhett's hands reached up to support her hips until she was stable again. His hands whispered over her skin and she felt her garter loosen, then he slipped her stocking down, leaving goosebumps all over her increasingly sensitized skin. Rhett tugged at her ankle until she raised her foot enough for him to slip the stocking off. He repeated the gentle disrobing on her other leg. Rhett grasped her hand and placed it on his shoulder, preparing her to balance on him as he slipped her drawers down over her hips. She gripped him as he helped her step out one foot at a time. She realized he must be kneeling in order to accomplish this. Her stomach clenched sharply.

Rhett placed one hand on the back of each leg, just above her heels. His thumbs stroked her ankles, once, twice; then his hands began to slide, slowly, inevitably upward. They followed the long, low swell of her calves, dipped behind her knees with firm pressure so as not to tickle her sensitive skin. She knew he was aware of how ticklish she was in the bend of her knees. He had spent hours on their honeymoon, exploring every inch of her body with hands both sensual and teasing, seeking out all the secrets of her skin. Tickling her lightly until he knew every place that made her laugh and squirm until she cried. Moving his hands firmly, as he did now, until he had found every place that made her gasp. The truth of her blindness for so many years was crushing.

Rhett's thumbs caressed small circles on her skin as his hands continued their slow slide up her thighs. He had moved so close that she could feel his breath against her skin as her chemise slid up with the inexorable progress of his hands. She was trembling and dry-mouthed, but she held her tongue.

His hands slid over her hips, and she shivered as air whispered over her bare skin, cooling the intimate places that throbbed for his touch. His thumbs rubbed the soft edges of her belly as his hands followed the curve of her waist. Night air dipped into her belly button as the chemise was drawn higher. His thumbs traced the ridges and valleys of her ribs, pressing firmly into her skin to find them. They slipped into the crease under each breast, then swept up the sides. Her nipples tightened, protesting his neglect. The chemise caught under her breasts and Rhett tugged it free. The thin cotton dragged against the pebbled tips, creating sparks of desire that flared and settled into the sweet ache between her legs.

Rhett lifted his hands and tugged her chemise free over her head. More hair tumbled free of pins, sliding over her shoulders and swinging free behind her back. She opened her eyes, and Rhett immediately angled his palm across them. "No," he whispered. "Keep them closed." His palm tickled her eyelashes as she swept them back down, then his hand moved to press two fingertips to her lips, forestalling the objection she had planned to make.

Then the world spun crazily and her eyes flew open again. Startled, she found Rhett's face quickly, close to her own. He had swept her suddenly into his arms. Her bearings restored with sight, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on tightly. Rhett chuckled, but his face was merry, not mocking, so she did not bristle with irritation, but smiled tentatively in return. He kissed each side of her brow in turn, but did not repeat his injunction.

The bed had been turned down long before, in preparation for Scarlett's retirement, and Rhett laid her on the cool sheets with the reverence of a holy penitent. From her brows, to her cheeks, to her jaw and her chin, he kissed her. His mouth traced the tendons of her neck, hot and open, then followed her collarbone out to the point of her shoulder. Scarlett was surprised to find how sensitive that small bony area was, surprised that Rhett could still teach her something new about her body. She felt the heat of blush in her cheeks. She had thought he had explored everything, to her shame and delight. To think there might still be secrets—

His mouth crossed her chest to lavish the same treatment equally to both shoulders, then continued downward. He kissed and licked a path down her sternum, his black hair brushing her breasts, but otherwise avoiding the soft mounds that were tight with longing. She moaned with frustrated desire, and gripped the sheets. Rhett's hands found her fists and worked them open. Just above her belly he lifted her head to look at her, and though her cheeks grew hotter she forced herself to meet his eyes.

"You can touch me," he said, and she thought her skin might burst into flame. He always read her so well - too well, at the exact moments she would wish to escape his scrutiny. She turned her head to the side, breaking his penetrating stare. With her cheek against the pillow, she shook her head. "Yes," Rhett said, and he lifted one of her hands to his shoulder. She looked back at him, noting the contrast of her small hand on his broad shoulder, the paleness of her skin against his bronze strength.

"I don't—"

"However you want," Rhett said. Scarlett felt a wave of gratitude for his mastery of her. It had embarrassed her, but now he saved her the further embarrassment of articulating her utter ignorance and even fear. She squeezed his shoulder.

The gesture seemed to satisfy Rhett, for he lowered his head once again. He kissed her belly with an open mouth and the tip of his tongue brushed her skin. Her stomach clenched, mirrored by her hand on his shoulder. She trembled and sighed as his mouth caressed the pliable contours of her abdomen. A warm tide of feeling flowed through her, and instinctively her free hand lifted to run her fingers through his hair. Then his head had moved again, passing beyond her reach. She pressed her palms against her own ribs and belly, as if she could press the sensuous feeling of his kisses into her skin, brand herself so they never faded.

Rhett's mouth traced her hip bones and the outside of her thighs. He was retracing the path his hands had followed when he had lifted her chemise. There was something reverent, even worshipful, in his slow progress, the way he lingered over her. He kissed the dimples on the sides of her knees, and tickled his tongue just barely into the cleft behind each knee. He kissed her calves and her ankles and even, she noted through slitted eyes when she lifted her head in weak astonishment, kissed the top of each foot, giving her a wicked grin when he noticed her gaze.

This slow lovemaking was leaving Scarlett drowsy yet unfulfilled. As Rhett raised his body over hers, she ran her hands through his hair without hesitation, clasping his head and drawing his mouth to her own. She kissed him and thrilled when his tongue slipped inside her mouth, toying with hers, curling along the roof of her mouth and then retreating so he could nip softly at her full lower lip. His hips settled against hers and she felt the length of him along her belly. Her fingers demanded, tugging at his hair, and he responded fiercely. His tongue battled with hers now, and she parried every stroke with her own ardor until they were both breathless and panting. Rhett pulled away and she took the opportunity to suck huge, cooling breaths into her burning lungs, until he threatened to steal her breath away with a gentle bite on the side of her neck. Her soft cry faded into a moan, her hips lifted reflexively to press herself against him. He - Rhett, and Rhett alone, and only ever Rhett - stirred such passion in her that she felt her thirst would never be quenched. Her hunger for him was impossible to ever eradicate. It burned away the lingering fears of the past. The dark, swirling desire would drown her and save her.

Rhett's mouth lifted from her neck but before he could kiss her, she angled her head away and her own mouth sought his neck. She was insecure and hesitant, having only reciprocated his touch with such aggression one time in their entire marriage, and part of her would still likely quail at the shame of her wanton behavior come morning - but this was the night. This was her husband. This was their bed. And love and desire overruled fear and shame. She wanted to mark him as her own. She wanted to demonstrate the depths of her own need, to touch him as he touched her and hope that by some miracle the truth of her love would reach him and finally, truly bind him to her again.

Her kisses were small, the nip of her teeth barely grazed him. When he went still above her, even his chest no longer moving with breath, she pulled away with an apology already bubbling over. Rhett swallowed her words with his mouth and his body fell on hers, bearing her down into the feather bed. He squeezed her hip and threaded a hand through her hair, angling them both to deepen the kiss. His tongue was a relentless invader, tangling with her own, retreating and pressing another attack until she followed him, exploring his mouth. His groan vibrated against her lips. He said her name, hoarsely, tipping her head back to move his mouth again along her jaw and throat. But Scarlett was no longer passive, accepting his ardor and praying it meant something. She would press her own suit now. Their black heads butted painlessly, one against the other, as she made her own attack. Her mouth on his neck was not hesitant or gentle. She kissed him, open mouthed, sucking his salty skin almost by accident then laving the reddened flesh with her tongue, and repeated this vigorous assault up and down his throat. She bit him again, carried away, with too much force. His groan was almost a roar and he wrenched his head and neck away from her. Panting, Scarlett stared up at him, challenge in her tilted green eyes.

"Wildcat," Rhett murmured. His voice and eyes were appreciative, not condemning. Her hands still in his hair, Scarlett tugged, trying to urge him back down. Rhett didn't budge. He shifted his weight to one hip, easing off her. After the all-encompassing heat of him, the night air felt frigid as it rushed over her bared skin. Scarlett shivered.

Rhett's hand slid up her torso, briefly warming her as it went, goosebumps subsiding in its wake. He cupped her breast for the first time that night and her head fell limply back against the pillow with the simple swell of pleasure. He cupped, and gently kneaded, and smoothed palm and fingers in turn over the taut bud of her nipple. She whimpered, feeling a sharp, untouched longing centered in each tight peak. Her torso rose and fell as she tried, wordlessly, to ask for what she needed. And Rhett answered. Gently at first, then with increasing pressure, he pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling and squeezing until she was crying out with every tug. His hand moved to her other breast and his head finally gave in to the tug of her hands. As he gently pinched the neglected nipple, he took the first, sensitized and aching, between his lips and suckled. Her fingers clutched him close with such strength that he had to fight against her grip to move and pay the same attention on her other breast.

His head moved hungrily between her breasts, suckling her nipples, then cooling them with a broad stroke of his tongue and letting the air dry them. The screws of desire drew tighter and tighter under this treatment. Her world had narrowed to her breasts and Rhett's mouth, and the unexpected touch of his hand between her legs startled her. A shockwave rippled from his hand to emerge as a desperate sound torn between a moan and a whimper and ending in his name.

"You're ready for me," Rhett whispered as his long fingers slipped between her folds. She could feel the dampness on the insides of her thighs. Neither this fact, nor his bold words, drew a blush of shame to her cheeks. There was only Rhett, and her desire, her love for him. This was her love, manifest, and with her simplicity of understanding she knew there was no room for shame between them.

"Yes," she said, and where his body was pressed against hers she could feel the shudder that passed through him at that single word. Rhett kissed her again, leaning his chest over her, but did not cover her yet. Their tongues dueled until she broke away with a gasp. Rhett's fingertips had brushed against that knot of nerves between her legs, a secret no other husband had revealed to her in their lovemaking. He stroked her in tight circles and she undulated under his hand, aching for more and retreating when pleasure overwhelmed her. Each wave crested higher and higher. Scarlett moaned, and whimpered, and drew Rhett's mouth back down though her own was too occupied with providing a release for the pressure building inside her to truly kiss him. Instead she pressed her open mouth to his, offering him each breath and sound as wordless proof of all she felt.

"Scarlett," Rhett breathed against her, "Scarlett. That's it, darling, let go. My god, Scarlett. Darling. Darling," he repeated, over and over, interspersing her name. She breathed in every endearment until they filled her, and the swelling pleasure roared over her nerve endings. His spiraling touch drove her until she shattered, arching against his hand with trembling thighs. She cried his name and he swallowed it, closing the kiss between them.

Rhett's hand didn't leave her yet. He moved over her again at last, settling between her hips, and his fingers parted her and guided the tip of him to press against her. But he stilled, and her mouth parted in disappointment as he lifted away from their kiss.

"Open your eyes," he urged. "Please, Scarlett," and she obliged, willing but also afraid of the note like begging in his voice. Rhett didn't have to beg her - for anything - everything she had was his. She longed to give it all to him, and no longer face rebuffs or coldness. To be sure of and secure in his love and no longer struggle to pick her way through a minefield just to speak with him. Could he see this in her eyes? He always read her so well, too well, he knew her as no one else had ever known her.

If Rhett wouldn't love her again, who ever could?

As she opened her eyes, Scarlett poured her heart into them and prayed for Rhett to be able to read it. His black eyes burned, but was that love? It was desire; she felt the hard proof of his desire between her legs, on the verge of breaching her. Why did he hold back?

One of Rhett's hands swiped upwards along her forehead, pulling sweat-sticky strands of hair loose from her cheeks. His large palm cupped the crown of her head, tilting it back slightly. She ran her hands up his chest and scissored her fingers, relishing the crisp tickle of his hair. Rhett's grin was taut and uncomfortable, but his eyes gleamed appreciatively.

Rhett slipped his other hand under her hip. His fingertips dimpled her rump as he lifted her hips, supporting her in his hand. He pressed into her, entering her in slow increments. His eyes were hot and when she closed hers, he stopped.

"No," he said. As a command it lacked his usual force, but Scarlett complied immediately. Apologetically, she lifted her head to kiss his chin, then sank back down so he could see her. Rhett did not smile again; his face was tight with strain as he lowered his hips and sank all the way into her. Scarlett's gasp caught on a high note of pleasure. Rhett squeezed her rear, then released her hips. He braced both his arms beside her and rocked his hips, once.

"Lift your legs," Rhett murmured. One hand moved to her thigh and showed her, running down to her knee and to help her drape her leg around his back. This was a new intimacy that stirred a darkling memory of that wild night when she had surrendered utterly to the madness of their mutual, destructive desire. He had lifted her hips like this and she had responded so wantonly it had shamed her in the morning. If this night had a morning like that one - if she woke alone, again - she surely would die of the shame this time. But there was no time for such thoughts, as Rhett withdrew and entered her again, pulling her attention back to the aching fullness of their joining. Her hips followed his, rising to meet his thrusts, and her legs tightened around him as she tried to keep him close.

He broke their gaze next, throwing his head back and groaning her name between gritted teeth as she rhythmically mirrored his quickening movements. Scarlett reached up and encircled his neck, drawing his head down to her breast. His black hair was curling and damp with sweat that left trails on her skin which cooled in the air when he rubbed his head against her. She threw her own head back again and gloried in the thrilling feeling of completion that accompanied this lovemaking, the connection and the proof of, at the very least, Rhett's desire. She squeezed him between her thighs and felt more than heard the rumble of his groan against her breast. His hips shuddered and he thrust with increasing speed until she could no longer match his pace and simply clung to him with her arms and legs. His hand fumbled between their bodies, digging into her belly as he worked it down to touch her again, roughly and inelegantly, no longer rhythmic and sensate. The almost desperate touch was familiar to her now. It meant he was near his own release, when he would reach for her again to drive her over another peak, this time with him.

Scarlett dragged her hands through Rhett's clinging hair, squeezing his head perhaps too forcefully, tightening her grip in echo of her own sharpening nerve endings. Rhett drove into her mercilessly and his broad fingers jerked against her, too roughly, jolting her unexpectedly over the edge. She cried out in pleasure and in shock, and her thighs spasmed against Rhett's hips. She heard him say her name under the sound of her own voice and felt again the vibration of his groan through her breast as the warmth of his release filled her.

Sweat was drying, cool and sticky on her limbs, as she drifted slowly down to sanity. She tried to untangle her legs but Rhett moved quickly to stop her with one hand on her thigh. "Don't," he murmured, not lifting his head. She squirmed but didn't remove her legs. They were still joined in that way, and she didn't really want to pull away from him yet. Rhett rested his hand against her thigh. Idly, she stroked wet strands of his black hair, letting them curl and droop over her fingers.

Rhett was heavy, and though he had been bracing his weight on his arms, he was now supporting himself with just the one, and it seemed to be losing strength. With every minute they drowsed away, the weight of his body on hers seemed to increase. She relished it, but if they stayed like this much longer, she wouldn't be able to breathe. Scarlett squirmed again, and Rhett raised his head. He looked down her body, then up to her face. She did not blush, until he grinned with animal satisfaction. She frowned then, and pushed at his chest without force. Rhett laughed, a free, boisterous sound full of mirth, and pulled her to his chest as he rolled off her. He kissed her, then continued his roll away from her and off the bed. He rose easily to his feet, proud and naked, and Scarlett lay still, fighting the butterflies of panic in her stomach.

Rhett paced to his discarded clothes and retrieved several items she recognized as his cigar case and matches, and a white handkerchief, then circled to the basin of water on the commode stand. He dipped the cloth in the water, then came to sit on the edge of the mattress. Now she did blush, hot and red, as he wiped the evidence of their lovemaking from between her legs. He stood with his back to her for a moment, then discarded the handkerchief in the wastebin by her vanity. He extinguished the lamp on the table, dropping the room into darkness illuminated only by moonlight, weakened by its struggle to sneak around the edges of her heavy draperies. Rhett returned to the bed, punching several pillows against the headboard before settling back. Scarlett lay still, watching the play of shadows as Rhett cut the tip of the cigar. It seemed so like the old days of nocturnal intimacy, that without stopping to worry about her welcome she scooted up to curl against his side and rest her head on his chest. She couldn't see his face now, but his hand came up to run over her hair. Then he lit the cigar and relaxed as he exhaled. His hand returned to stroke her hair, while the red tip of the cigar made glowing arcs as he smoked.

Scarlett drowsed against his comforting chest, lulled by the strokes of his hand along her hair. She heard Rhett murmur, "Did I ever tell you," and begin a story from his time in California that she had heard at least a dozen times, but which had never failed to amuse her. It helped, she was sure, that a central feature to the story was Rhett being dumped on his rear into a horse trough. She giggled, though she hadn't ever quite managed to picture her elegant, controlled husband in such a state of disgrace.

When even the glow of Rhett's cigar had been extinguished and her - _their,_ she corrected herself fiercely; never again did she want this room to be hers alone - when _their_ bedroom was at last completely dark, Scarlett finally dared to ask one of the two questions that had been on her mind all night.

"Rhett?" she began, to make sure he was still awake. His chest shifted underneath her head. One hand squeezed her hip in answer. "Rhett...you are staying, aren't you? This - this wasn't—"

The world shifted beneath her as Rhett rolled out from underneath her and canted his weight until he was braced over her. His torso pressed into hers from the tops of her breasts to her thighs, and she didn't need to be able to see herself to know she blushed. She should have put her nightgown back on, despite Rhett's insistence otherwise. His thick mat of chest hair rubbed softly against her skin, still sensitized and already slightly abraded, and she was shocked to feel another rush of desire that made her belly clench and quiver against Rhett's. Though the room was dark, his white teeth were visible when he grinned. She felt her cheeks grow warmer. "Rhett," she repeated in vague protest.

Rhett stopped her nascent complaint with a kiss. His lips, so fierce and demanding half an hour ago, were gentle and even chaste as he pressed her mouth lightly with his own before pulling back. He took the weight of his upper body on his elbows braced beside her shoulders on the mattress, and his fingers threaded through her limp hair, the roots still damp with sweat. On either side of her head his large hands covered her skull. He was silent, staring at her in the darkness until her eyes became so used to the dim light that with the help of memory she felt she could see his face clearly. Feeling the focus of his stare, she became uncomfortable, and her body squirmed beneath his, her head held immobile by his tender but implacable hands. Again he smiled, but did not kiss her. His fingers massaged her scalp, each pinpoint press sending a small frisson along her nerves.

"I told you the truth when I left last year - no, Scarlett, don't interrupt. Hush. After Bonnie's death, I felt nothing but grief. I couldn't even drown it in drink, but eventually, it receded. It faded away like the tide going out, but when it had left my shores, I was barren. Not just of love, but of everything." Scarlett, listening, tried to understand, but her heart quailed at what seemed to her another speech just as he had made the year before - another story of past love, not a present testimony. She wanted to care how Rhett had felt, and she knew she should, but her mind was more concerned with the present, and the talk of the past just stirred old heartbreak and confusion. Hadn't he even said they couldn't fix the past? Why must he dwell on it? But she dimly understood that she should not interrupt him, that he needed to tell her these things even if she did not wish to hear them.

"All feeling had left me, or been cut out. I was a surgeon removing the damaged tissue of my own heart. But you, Scarlett - you are never barren, and I don't mean your propensity for fecundity." Her brow crinkled delicately above her nose, not understanding his words, and wishing he would get on with it. "What about now!" she wanted to cry, but held her tongue.

"Scarlett, you are as vital as the springtime when I met you. You have that tenacity of green, growing things - things with roots that go deep. And when I left you to seek some haven out of the past, the roots I ended up discovering were dug deeply into my heart. I could not pull them loose, although I tried. You, my dear, could flourish in the hardest earth. You have more strength than nearly anyone I've ever met - myself included. You would never run, as I did, even when running would serve you better than fighting."

Rhett's voice was mesmerizing in the darkness, even if his abstract speech was hard to follow. With the warmth of his body surrounding her, and the gentle, even pressure of his massaging hands, she was being lulled into a receptive state just barely on the conscious edge of sleep. Befuddled, she thought he might have complimented her, and wished she dared interrupt to demand more understandable praise. She struggled to stay alert as Rhett went on.

"I didn't find what I sought out there. I suppose I could have, might have done so, but against even my own wishes - feeling came back into my limbs, into my heart. I couldn't live in that old world, which should by all rights be dead, defeated in war and crushed under what passes for progress. I still wanted to _live,_ " and his grin gleamed, that old fierce smile that made him look exactly like a storybook pirate.

"But it hurt, Scarlett. I left to be done with hurt, having told you honestly that I could not bear to risk my heart a third time. Yet nothing I try seems able to stop hurt from finding me. Even this last month, when we have been cold and combative, when it seemed like that week with you at Tara might prove to be something out of an old dream better forgotten - when I reached for numbness, when I tried to build the old walls, I came up empty-handed. If I can not insulate myself from blows, I shall need to gather strength to face them."

Rhett kissed her again, taking her by surprise. She reflected briefly on his words, trying to find some meaning in what he said, to be able to attach some reason to his kiss. But his words had run over her like water, shimmering with promise yet impossible to grasp. She shrugged inwardly and lifted her mouth against his, bringing her hands up to his ribs. His mouth was warm and gentle and no longer chaste, as his tongue swept across the seam of her lips until she parted to allow him entry. He delved into her mouth like the most careful treasure seeker, teasing the tip of her tongue with his own. He freed one hand from her entwining strands of hair and ran it firmly down her side, his thumb just brushing the curve of her breast at the top of his stroke. He gripped her thigh and slowly eased it over, opening the cradle of her lap so his own hips could sink more firmly against her. She gasped against his mouth at the feel of him, already hard, hot along the inside of her thigh.

"Rhett," she said, with the lilt of a question, with uncertainty and fear, with all the love and heartbreak he stirred in her. He continued as if he had not heard her speak.

"I do not think I was wrong when I accused you of wielding love like a whip - don't deny it, my pet, you are still so ill-suited to lying," Scarlett frowned and he kissed her again until her mouth softened. "That's better," he said quietly. "I don't think I was wrong, but I did not do you justice. You may be brutal with the love of others, but when _you_ love, those lucky souls could have no better champion. What you did for Melanie when she was having her baby, what you did for your family during the war, how hard you continued to work. Let's neither of us be blind flatterers, Scarlett, you like money and you like to work; but you got your start because you needed to protect your family."

"I want your strength on my side, Scarlett. I want to have some small place in your sheltering heart, where there was never room before. Tell me, my darling - is there a space for me, some harbor of refuge in your breast? Am I worthy of your battles?"

Not fully understanding this long soliloquy, Scarlett was unsure how to respond. She took a deep breath, her sensitive skin rubbing again against his coarser body, but remained silent.

"Tell me you love me," he said suddenly. Scarlett stiffened. Hadn't she told him just that night? Hadn't she told him so many times over the last year, and had the sentiment unreturned? How dare he ask her to say it again when so far - at least so much as she had understood - he hadn't offered her anything at all in return!

"You know I do," she said sullenly. "Haven't you been listening?"

"I should ask the same of you," Rhett said, and she could hear the twisting smirk on his lips. "Tell me, Scarlett," he asked again, and the hands on her hip and head turned slowly, caressingly against her. He kissed her throat, tilting her head back, and drug his lips down to trace her collarbone. The hand on her hip slid up and he ran the rough heel along the pendulous side of her breast. In almost involuntary reaction, her legs slipped wider, and the heat of him seated against her core burned molten.

"I love you!" she gasped, arching her back to bring herself closer to her husband. He ceased to move and she made a low sound in the back of her throat that sounded, to her keen embarrassment, like a whine.

"Look at me," he said, holding himself still over her. Reluctantly, she raised her eyes, finding the black pools of his, so dark they appeared as holes in the fabric of the night. "I love you, Scarlett. I was wrong to think I could ever stop loving you."

"Oh!" she said, a small shocked sound. The wealth of her heart was overflowing in a rush of triumphant emotion that made further speech impossible. She felt ablaze with happiness, almost surprised that the room had not turned bright as dawn from the ecstatic light she felt spreading through her limbs. "Oh, she repeated softly, and her hands clutched at his sides. He kissed her again, the barest brush of his lips over hers.

"Let me love you," Rhett said against her mouth, and Scarlett smiled into his kiss.


	20. Chapter 20

_Atlanta, Georgia, December 1874_

Scarlett stood in the door of the large dressing room that opened off their bedroom. The room had been solely her own for years, and been full to overflowing with fine fabrics in a dizzying variety of colors. It had taken her more than a week to go through all those dresses. Some of them had gone to Tara for her sister; some, the oldest and plainest, had gone to Hattie and Prissy. Some clothing had been removed to be kept but stored elsewhere. These included the more matronly dresses in sedate colors that she hated to wear, but would be necessary when they went to Charleston - which they would, for the first time as a family, just after the New Year - and the depressingly numerous mourning gowns.

Now Rhett's dark clothes were held in sober array on one side of the formerly feminine closet. Already the confined space smelled differently, the aroma from her verbena sachets mingling with a hint of tobacco. The smell reminded Scarlett so strongly of she and Rhett together that even entering the dressing room could make her blush in an unguarded moment. This room was palpable proof of their reunion, and it reassured her to step inside and run her hands along the mix of their feminine and masculine fabrics.

Scarlett fingered the heavy broadcloth cuff of a black sleeve. Rhett had moved his things in October. Two months later she was still in the habit of walking through the dressing room solely for this sensory ritual at least once a week. When he was gone - down at the bank where he had reclaimed his desk, out with the children or Uncle Henry or some one or other of the gentlemen who now came to call again - she would step inside and take it all in. This tangible mingling of their possessions was more durable than the firm pillow of his chest under her cheek at night, her palm flattened over the reassuring strength of his heartbeat. He could leave any morning; that he had really and truly combined his life with her own once again was most strongly evident in the dressing room.

"You know," said Rhett from the open doorway, "I noticed something was missing."

Scarlett dropped the jacket sleeve as if it had burned her fingertips and turned hurriedly to face her husband. She was grateful that the dim room could hide the flush which must show on her face, if the warmth rising along her cheekbones was any indication. "God's nightgown, Rhett!" she complained, going on the offensive in the hope of forestalling any embarrassing questions about what she was doing fondling his clothing. "You scared me half to death. You - you should knock, not just sneak around the house like...like…"

Rhett smiled at her, but his eyebrows lifted in something too much like his old mockery. "I should knock on my own bedroom door?"

"Well, yes," Scarlett replied lamely, then, feeling she had chosen the wrong feint, she backtracked to his opening statement. "Something was missing?" She would rather discuss anything than this subject of knocking on bedroom doors, on this bedroom door in particular. It reminded her of the not-too-distant time when this had been only her room, when his presence - even properly announced by the rap of his knuckles - would have been unwelcome, when like as not the door would have been locked against his entry.

Rhett stepped back from the doorway and raised a hand to beckon her to join him. Scarlett slipped her palm against his and let him lead her across the room. Rhett guided her to the vanity table.

"Sit down, my dear."

"What are you doing, Rhett?" Scarlett asked, puzzled, but acquiescing to his command with the hope of satisfying her curiosity.

Rhett stood behind her and folded his fingers over her shoulders. His large palms covered the ridges of her shoulder blades, warming her skin through the red silk faille of her bodice. He flicked at the tassels that hung from her shoulders and she shifted under his grip, craning her neck to look up at him.

"Stop that, Rhett," she said irritably. "Are you ever going to get to the point? You must have some reason for - for loitering around the bedroom in the middle of the afternoon."

Rhett squeezed her again and bent low to press his cheek next to hers. He turned his head inward, so the edge of his mustache just barely brushed her skin as he murmured, "I could think of several reasons for loitering around the bedroom in the middle of the afternoon."

"You would," Scarlett said, rolling her eyes and disguising the thrill of nerves she felt at his words by refocusing her attention to the clutter on the vanity. The small pot of rouge she preferred to keep hidden in a drawer had been left out next to the nearly identical and far more acceptable pot of plain lip salve. She couldn't put it away with Rhett watching, though; he would be sure to tease her about feeling the need to hide her face paint. She grabbed the silver-backed hairbrush instead, digging at a long strand of black hair that was caught in the bristles.

"You wound me, my dear," Rhett said, straightening up with a chuckle. "I would have hoped you would feel much more charitable towards my - er - reasons for seeking you in our bedroom."

"You are a dirty-minded varmint," Scarlett said airily. She raised her eyes to meet his in the mirror. "Really, Rhett, what were you talking about? Something was missing?"

Rhett slid his palms slowly over her shoulders, drawing them towards her neck until his thumbs could trace the smooth white column. Scarlett shivered as he glided those digits slowly along her skin until he grazed the fine down at her hairline. Her eyes still held his in the mirror. A flame she could finally recognize burned in his insistent gaze.

"There was - a gift," he said, his thumbs trailing slowly down her nape again. "I had noticed its absence some time ago but, I admit, I thought little of it until two months ago. Even then, I was reluctant to mention it, although it has lingered in my mind. Are you changing for supper?"

Scarlett blinked. "Of course," she answered automatically. "But, Rhett, what has that to do-"

Rhett canted his head toward the dark green dress pieces currently draped over a chair by the fireplace. "For tonight?"

"Yes, but-"

Rhett sighed with theatrical exaggeration and stopped the sensual movement of his hands. "Yes, it would have been just the thing."

Scarlett rapped the hairbrush against the tabletop. "You are speaking in riddles!"

His cavalier grin was thoroughly aggravating, but the press of his thumb which came to rest just below her neck left her too flustered to be angry. "Can you not guess? Try and humor me, my dear. You must have seen it about this time last year."

Scarlett shifted her seat, uncomfortable with most memories from the year before. She did not like to dwell on those months. "No, Rhett."

Rhett leaned over her then, surrounding her, caging her against his chest with one arm braced on the table and the other reaching to drag her jewelry box forward. Scarlett's brows drew together and she looked at him in the mirror for a moment.

"Oh!" she breathed at last.

"You remember."

"Yes. Rhett, let me up."

Rhett stood, his arms falling to his sides and restoring her freedom of movement. She leaned over the table and pulled open a drawer. Her white hand disappeared as she reached all the way to the back of the shallow tray and her fingers closed around the smooth, flat box. Scarlett drew the box out and her hand wavered. Rhett closed his fingers over her own.

"May I?"

Scarlett's hard swallow hurt her throat. She released her grip and slid her hand out from beneath his. They were silent for a long moment, a minute only - or maybe less - that passed achingly slowly while they both looked at the unassuming black box.

"Why—"

"It reminded me of you."

That was not what she had meant. Why hadn't he given it to her last Christmas? Rhett pocketed the box.

"Rhett!"

He leaned down swiftly and kissed her, brief and firm. "Change for supper."

"But - Rhett!" she called to no effect as he left the room.

Scarlett sat fuming at her table a moment longer before rising to reach for the bell pull. What game was he playing now?

Out in the upstairs hall, Rhett stopped to open the box. He stared down at the strand of diamonds and the emerald heart which shone almost black in the gloom. With unnecessary care, he lifted the jewelry from its velvet bed and dropped it into his coat pocket. Turning, he saluted the closed bedroom door with the empty box before moving away down the hall. He tossed the box and caught it, tossed it and caught it again, as he descended the stairs. Pork was crossing the foyer and Rhett gave the box to the servant to dispose of.

Rhett lounged to the parlor where he made himself at home on the long slick sofa. He lit a cigar and held it in one hand while the other slipped back to his pocket. He ran the heavy diamonds of the necklace through his fingers, his restlessness hidden, outwardly a study in nonchalance as he drew on the cigar.

He shouldn't have left the necklace behind after the previous Christmas, or shouldn't have left it out where he knew she would be likely to find it. It had been an ill-considered move in a game he was barely aware of playing, and he could not think now of what he had hoped to accomplish with the taunt. Had it been meant to discourage or provoke? What had he hoped for in those dark months? It no longer mattered. It seemed at times that a force stronger than he had moved through their lives in the last year, determined to set right what remained to them when he had lost his ability to see or hope for better things.

The cigar was a smoking butt when he heard Wade and Ella on the stairs. Rhett ground it out in the ashtray and went to the hall door. Wade stopped at the foot of the stairs, but Ella came quickly to his side and wrapped her hands around his jacket sleeve. Both children were as cautious to trust in his continued presence as their mother. Where Scarlett tried to conceal her wariness, Wade was openly mistrustful. Ella was sweet but often clingy, and still prone to nightmares. Rhett had awoken more than one morning to find her curled against Scarlett's back. She was not allowed to sleep with her mother since he had usurped that position, so he would carry her back to her bed in the nursery before Scarlett noticed.

Wade's loyalties were mysterious. He was clearly reluctant to believe too strongly in a reunited family. Their discussion in New Orleans had yielded at least some improvement in his relationship with Scarlett. Wade no longer blamed his mother but stymied anger was not so easily reconciled and the emotion he had cultivated for a year still needed an outlet. The boy could be short-tempered, bitter in a manner most unbecoming the docile, calf-like softness of the brown eyes and open face inherited from his father. His moods tilted wildly between cold formality towards Rhett and a worshipful attachment almost as clingy as Ella; between the old outbursts of anger towards his mother and a staunch, overly eager defense of her in response to even the mildest jeer which Rhett might wield in gentle teasing.

Rhett swung the arm Ella grasped, eyeing Wade to read his current disposition. Wade shuffled his feet and his eyes would not hold Rhett's gaze. Rhett judged him to be mistrustful and sheepish of his own foul mood, but not angry.

Ella giggled, stretching on her tip toes to keep hold of his sleeve as Rhett raised his arm higher and higher.

"Did you see your mother upstairs?" he asked casually, directing the question to his stepson.

"No, sir."

"Ella, why don't you run back up and see if she's ready to come down."

"Yes, Uncle Rhett!" Ella released his arm and ran back up the stairs.

"Shall we go into the dining room, Wade," Rhett said in an easygoing manner that did not disguise the command inherent in his statement. Wade kept his gaze on his own feet, but dutifully followed Rhett into the brightly lit dining room.

The gas lamps were turned up and the window shades pulled open. The sun had set, so the effect was not one of added brightness but somehow, there was warmth in welcoming the outside world instead of closing it off outside the thick draperies. The star-strewn sky sparkled like diamonds scattered across black velvet. Perhaps he simply had a more romantic appreciation for his home these days.

Rhett took the decanter of claret and the carafe of water from the sideboard over to the long table. It was set for supper with four places. His own seat was at the head of the table, a formality for which Scarlett had demonstrated a curiously intractable insistence. He had briefly feared she would insist that all their meals cater to the most rigid standards of etiquette and they would once more be dining with the length of the table between them, a barrier to intimacy and a symbol of the cold estrangement their marriage had been. But Scarlett had been more than happy with the new arrangement, in which she sat at his right hand, with Ella on her other side, and Wade at his left. It was only his original suggestion of two-by-two across the table which had met with such puzzling disapproval.

The lack of a fifth place setting pierced him with a delicate pain. He would never be free of it, these reminders of his loss - _their_ loss. He had learned to live with that ache, even to be unaware of it at times. Bonnie would never be forgotten, but he still had a family to live for, a wife and children who loved and needed him. A wife he loved, her children who were his children.

"I thought we gentlemen might indulge in a small apéritif."

"What is that?"

Rhett stood at the corner between his place and Wade's, filled his own glass with claret, and added a small measure of the wine to Wade's glass before filling it with water. The liquid was pale red when he was finished. It would only be a few more years until Wade was old enough for his own glass of wine.

As he poured, Rhett explained, "Just a small drink before supper." He handed Wade his glass. "Should we have a toast?"

Wade took the glass gingerly. "Uhm. A toast to what?"

"Hmm. I suppose it is too late for a Christmas toast." Rhett saw Ella round the newel post at the foot of the stairs, hand in hand with Scarlett. "How about a toast to your mother," he said, making sure to speak loudly enough for his voice to carry out into the hall, "the most beautiful woman in Atlanta."

Ella crowed loudly as the pair entered the dining room, pulling at her mother's hand in a failed attempt to induce hurry. Rhett set his own glass down to pour one for Scarlett and another, mostly water, for Ella. As they drew near, he could see the pleased sparkle in his wife's green eyes. She never tired of flattery.

"Why, Rhett," she demurred, taking the glass he held out to her, "you do run on."

Rhett handed Ella's glass down and raised his own again. "To you, my dear," he murmured, leaning close enough to whisper the words against her hair. When he pulled away and saw her flushed cheeks, he winked at her before bending down to clink his glass against Ella's. "I stand corrected. A toast to the _two_ most beautiful women in Atlanta."

Ella beamed at him, so pleased she forgot to sip her drink. Rhett pulled out Scarlett's chair, then lifted Ella into her own while Wade seated himself.

The children were still brimming with the excitement of Christmas, and Rhett let their enthusiasm carry the meal. He usually liked to tell stories at supper, sometimes crafting uplifting tales of honor and virtue from the true stories of his past, sometimes amusing the children with edited versions of some of his more ribald adventures. He would catch Scarlett's eye during the latter and wink to remind her of the uncensored truth as she had heard it, enjoying her blush and watching her grow flustered until she would cut him off with a snappish, clumsy attempt to redirect the conversation. Tonight Rhett was content to let the children gabble, recounting their imaginative adventures with the new lengths of train track and regiments of tin soldiers that had taken over the ballroom. It was a better use for that empty, wasted space on the third floor than the parties never held - or even the ones she had held, filled with Scallawags and the scum of new Atlanta society. He knew Scarlett still loved to dance, and he vowed to himself to take her out again on New Year's Eve for a much happier celebration.

The corner of Rhett's mouth quirked upwards as he watched Scarlett shift on her seat. This prattle about make-believe was clearly boring her. Her own unimaginative mind, which so adroitly and easily grasped numbers and complicated mathematics, was simply boggled by the play of her children. It made her patience short as it committed two of the major sins of conversation with Scarlett O'Hara, being neither about herself nor easily understandable to her.

Rhett set down his fork and slipped his right hand into his pocket. The jewels of the necklace were cool against his fingers. Inside the pocket, he ran the strand along his hand, stopped to finger the pendant. Scarlett still wore the little diamond flower that Ella had picked out in Philadelphia. In fact, he suddenly realized, he had not seen her in any other necklace since - since when? Certainly since before the holiday at Tara. She hadn't had an occasion for anything more elaborate since then, excepting perhaps Christmas, but that had been a small family affair - just themselves and the bickering Hamilton siblings. Ashley had sent his regrets that the Wilkeses would not be able to return for the holiday this year; regrets, Rhett had been pleased to note, had not seemed to play any part in Scarlett's emotional response to that news.

Rhett pushed his chair back from the table, and three pairs of eyes turned on him with surprise.

"Rhett?" Scarlett questioned.

"Is it too late for a Christmas gift?"

Rhett stood and went around the corner of the table to stand by Scarlett's chair. Swiftly, he brought his hands to her neck and unclasped the delicate gold chain. He transferred the ends of the necklace to one hand and bent down to Ella.

"Rhett, what are you doing?"

"Ella, can you keep this necklace safe for your mother? I know that she likes it very much, and would hate for anything to happen to it. Perhaps you could wear it for her?"

"Yes, Uncle Rhett," Ella said, casting her eyes down. Rhett tapped her on the nose and hooked the fine gold chain around her neck. The small flower nestled in the frills of lace that ran down her dress from neckline to waist. Then Rhett turned to his wife.

"My love, I would like to give you a late Christmas gift. A _very_ late gift. I can only regret the reasons for my extreme tardiness."

Scarlett's lips curled up in a delicate smile. The dark green of her dress - and, to be sure, her avaricious anticipation of the new piece of jewelry she knew to be forthcoming - deepened her eyes to their most emerald, their purity of color framed by the thick black lashes that set them off so alluringly.

"Oh, yes, Rhett!" she pleaded, knotting her fingers together in her lap. He heard a shiver of silk as her legs bounced with childish excitement.

Rhett bent his mouth close to her ear and whispered, "Only you can make greed so very charming." He laughed, pulling away and standing upright as her head whipped around, glaring at him with dark fire in her eyes. Rhett moved behind her chair and pulled the necklace from his pocket. Holding the ends lightly in his fingers, he draped the chain across her chest. As he lifted his hands to clasp the necklace at her nape, she leaned forward slightly to allow him room. Her bare shoulders shivered as the cool metal settled against her pale skin, the slightly larger stone which concealed the clasp resting just below the freckle on her nape. Sliding his hands from the necklace to her shoulders, his fingers clenched with an involuntary reflex. Scarlett brought her left hand up to trace the emerald and diamond strand, and the fingertips of her right hand brushed gently against his own. Rhett wished suddenly that he had not teased her earlier, that he had thought to give her this gift in the privacy of their bedroom and not at the dining room table with the children close at hand. He wanted to press his mouth to her neck, the way he had envisioned the day he bought this gift. If they had been alone, he thought, he would have pulled her out of the chair and damn the servants.

"Oh, Rhett," she sighed, a little wistfully. He squeezed her warm shoulders again, deliberate and gentle, hoping the gesture would convey a measure of understanding. It should at least bring comfort, even if she was too obtuse to read a deeper meaning. Regret - so much regret for wasted time, bitter misunderstandings, painful loss. For whatever game he had tried to play by leaving this gift behind, ungiven but sure to be discovered, and the struggle of the intervening year since that unspoken taunt.

Ella clambered up onto the arm of her chair, leaning over to gawk at the necklace. Rhett released his wife's shoulders and smiled at the little girl, then at Wade, pasting over the moment with a nonchalance he was far from feeling.

"Mother it's so beautiful!" Ella marveled.

Rhett took his seat at the head of the table again and, lifting his wine glass for a drink, tilted it towards Scarlett in a silent toast.

...

In the silent house, the sound of a door closing upstairs was easy to hear even from the parlor window. Scarlett counted the seconds in her head. From the door of Wade's bedroom, one last look into the nursery to see if Ella had fallen asleep before he would be on the stairs. She let the curtain drop and turned around just as Rhett crossed the threshold.

He smiled at her, an expression of genuine pleasure that still disconcerted her. There was no mockery in his gaze, no retreat into blandness meant to throw her off. Rhett found honest enjoyment in her company. In some ways, it was a return to the very first days of their acquaintance in Atlanta; yet even then he had hidden his true self behind quips and jeers - nothing like the brutal mockery he had employed after they were married, but enough to confuse her. He still loved to tease her, but she no longer feared that his jokes would come with a barb to sting her. It was odd, but it was wonderful.

"Rhett," she said, touching her fingertips to the necklace. His smile fell.

"I'm sorry." He moved swiftly across the thick carpet to take her in his arms. His hands rested on her waist, just above the flare of her bustle. He came close, so close; she could feel the solid warmth of his legs pressing up against her skirts.

"Don't let's talk about...about old things. I don't care."

Though his lips smiled, his dark eyes seemed sad. "You are a marvel, Scarlett. There is only the future for you, isn't there? The past is a place you never visit."

Scarlett stepped away. "There's just no point to it. That's all."

Rhett released her and she went back to the window. This pointless conversation irritated her. No one could go forward with a load of aching memories. They had hurt each other terribly; how could they ever be happy if they didn't shut the door on those times? She toyed with the fringe on the velvet curtain. Something was wrong now; something awkward and unsettled had come between them and she did not like it or know how it had happened.

Rhett's hand was warm as he covered hers and lifted it to press a kiss to her knuckles. "You must pardon an old man's conceit."

"You are not an old man," Scarlett whispered, looking at the grey wings in his black hair.

He lifted his head and pierced her with a sharp stare. "And you are surprisingly no longer a child, I think. Perhaps we are meeting somewhere in the middle at last."

Scarlett's brows drew together in a frown. This was not much better. Again, she tried to pull away, but this time Rhett tightened his grip and did not release her hand. "Just indulge me a moment, my pet. I know you think I am being foolish."

Scarlett relented and stood still while Rhett pressed his lips to her knuckles for a long moment, holding her hand securely in both of his. She stared at his bowed head, simultaneously disappointed and relieved that she could not see his face in this strange moment. What was he thinking? But even if she could see him, she probably wouldn't know. He no longer hid from her on purpose, but her own perspicacity had not been much increased.

Rhett lifted his head at last and his face was smooth; not unreadable, but showing no signs of inner torment - at least, none that she could see. "Now, come into the light and let me see you in all your beauty."

That was more like it. Scarlett let herself be led over to the couch, where a warm circle of light spilled from the gaslamp at one end. Rhett returned one hand to her waist and pressed the other under her chin, using it to tilt her head from side to side.

"Your eyes sparkle even more than those diamonds."

Scarlett smiled up at him, lowering her lashes and lifting her head just slightly to show off her dimples. Rhett's head lowered and she held her breath, her lips pursing unconsciously as she waited for his kiss.

To her surprise, he bent low and opened his mouth over the hollow at the base of her throat. The weight of his chin pressed the heart-shaped pendant of the necklace into her chest. Suddenly her eyes were pricked with tears and despite her own protestations, she found herself asking, "Why did you leave this last year?"

For a moment she was looking up into his black eyes, but too swiftly for her mind to form a protest he had gathered her in his arms and sat down on the sofa.

"Let us take your own advice, Scarlett. Leave it in the past."

She traced the strand with trembling fingertips, lifted the pendant and felt its weight. "But, Rhett…"

"I cannot answer that question."

"Cannot, or will not?"

"Both. I cannot, and if I could, I would not. What good would it do? Don't abandon your principles now, my dear - you have so few left. Aren't you the one who has told me many times that there is no point in looking back? We have only to move forward. Those days will never come back, my darling."

He was right, of course he was. It was the same thing she always said; to do other than move forward had only ever gotten her in trouble. She felt his thumb swipe her cheeks and realized she had started to cry.

"Don't you have a handkerchief for me?" she quipped, offering a weak smile.

"Did I not give you a dozen of your own for Christmas just the other day?" Rhett rebuked her even as he pressed a soft white square into her palm. Scarlett patted the corners of her eyes.

"I don't know why," she retorted. "I'll never remember them."

Rhett smirked. "Did you even open the box? Ah, well, that ruins the joke a bit." Rhett tucked his handkerchief back into his breast pocket. With his left arm draped over her legs, he cupped his hand behind her knees and held her snugly while he drew his right hand up her satin-covered back until his fingers touched the bare skin above her neckline. "Those handkerchiefs were all embroidered with my own initials."

"You are a varmint, Rhett Butler!" Scarlett said, a little breathless now, from laughter and a heartbeat that was beginning to race as his thumb traced the exposed skin of her shoulders.

"You like me because I am a varmint," he reminded her.

"You are conceited," she murmured, lifting her chin as his head lowered.

"I love you," he said, now so close that she felt the movement of his lips on hers as he said the words. She licked her own suddenly dry lips, and the tip of her tongue just brushed against his full lower lip.

Scarlett reached her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through the roots of his thick, soft hair. "I love you," she whispered in return, closing her eyes in delicious expectation.

Rhett kissed her, his firm warm lips bringing that familiar rush of feeling that left her dizzy and breathless, grateful for the strength of his arms that supported her as the world blurred around her. His mouth was insistent but she was only too happy to yield to him, opening for his tender assault, her hands tugging at his hair. There was not a breath between them but she felt as if they would never be close enough.

His mouth left hers to move along her jawline, each fierce kiss leaving a small burn of desire in its wake. He pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat again, and when his tongue darted out to taste her there she whimpered and her fingers clenched.

"Rhett," she managed to breathe, but as a protest it lacked any of the urgency she had hoped to convey. They were in the parlor, in the front of the house. At least with the heavy drapes no one could see in, if anyone were about at this late hour; but a servant could enter the room at any time, or see them easily even from the front hall.

Rhett took no notice of her failed complaint. His mouth was moving along the necklace now. It seemed he was pressing open-mouthed kisses along the strand, his tongue tracing above and below each diamond as he made his way up to her neck. Her head fell back to allow him access to her throat even as she tried again to gather her mind to protest their compromising position.

"Rhett, we can't," she moaned, and blushed at the sound.

"Hush," he said, his mustache tickling the skin beneath her ear.

"Not here," she managed to gasp. He had taken her earlobe between his teeth. Coherent thought was becoming more and more difficult to manage. If only they were in their bedroom already—

Somehow, her feeble protests must have finally made an impression. He lifted his head away from her neck and Scarlett bit her lip to stifle the whine that threatened to escape at the loss. For a moment they stared at each other, black eyes and green hot with desire.

"You're right," he mumbled. His fingers traced her skin and she felt the hand behind her knee press against her thigh. Then his arms were moving and shifting and he started to rise from the couch, cradling her against his chest.

"No!" she cried. "Anyone could see—"

"So? They are our servants. This is my house."

"Let me down. Please, Rhett. I will walk."

He set her slowly on her feet, clearly reluctant to let her go, keeping her so close that every inch of her body dragged along his as he lowered her to the ground. Her knees trembled as they took her weight and she locked them to keep herself steady.

Scarlett felt herself to be shamefully eager to reach the sanctuary of her bedroom, and the sedate pace at which they went upstairs seemed to take forever. At last, the door closed behind them, leaving them alone in the unlit room. She turned into Rhett's embrace, her mouth lifting for his even as she heard the turn of the key in the latch. The door was locked, with her husband on the same side now. She smiled as his lips found hers in the darkness. Now, and always.

 _Fin._

* * *

 _Thank you everyone for all the reviews, follows, and favorites over the course of this story! That is the end, yes. I have no plans for anything else related to *this* story right now, though I don't rule out perhaps a continuation or related vignettes. I always thought I would have some of the latter, not just that wedding night one-shot from this universe, but so far the ideas haven't materialized. But there are things - or at least one big thing - that I did not touch on in this story, and I think I would like to some day (that "one big thing" being another Butler baby, which I think needed more attention than I was interested in giving by this point in my writing of this story. Sorry there is no epilogue baby for those of you who have asked about that!)._


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